Ham and Cheese
by DOKChairman
Summary: Join Jacko the Smiling Clown, Super Sydney, Indiana Vaughn, Tensionus Interruptus, Sark the Pimp, 00Marshall, and three French-Canadian terrorists with no names. If you love insanely stupid comedy this story is for you. If not, read anyway. Read me!
1. Would you like some mayo with your Ham a...

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


A/N: This story is nothing but cheap crap. If you are reading this, you are more than likely wasting your time. Why do I knock my own story you ask? That's a good question. Let me tell you why. This is supposed to be a humorous story, and unfortunately, I am not funny. Don't get me wrong, I have a sarcastic streak a mile long, but sarcasm does not usually translate well into jokes. So you have to suffer just like I do. Did I mention you should stop reading this? Oh, and for those wondering on the status of _Angel Dark_, it is coming along, but I need to take a break from the doom and gloom that story is turning into. Look for a new chapter within the next two weeks, hopefully before the Super Bowl. God, I was so happy that the 49'ers got their ass kicked, and that the Raiders won. Long live the Raider Nation! You cannot escape the Black Hole.

  


Warning!!!!!!: This story contains adult humor, crude situations, bad language, and GROSSLY OUT OF CHARACTER CHARACTERIZATIONS. I hope I was clear enough. If you are easily offended, French, Canadian, or God forbid, French Canadian, read at your own risk. Don't come complaining to me if something in the story upsets you. You have been warned. Now please read on at your discretion.

  


Chapter 1: Would you like some mayo with your Ham and Cheese?

  
  


"Ok, ok, I got one for you. A man, a giraffe, and a monkey walk into a bar..."

Weiss was interrupted by Vaughn. "Hold on a second. A giraffe?"

"What?" Weiss asked innocently. He added for Vaughn's benefit, "It's a really big bar, ok?" Weiss frowned at the skeptical look on Vaughn's face and took a large bite out of his ham and cheese sandwich. Mumbling with a large chunk in his mouth, "Jesus, its like you've never heard of a joke before."

Vaughn, who heard Weiss's mumbled comment, cried indignantly, "Hey! I've heard of jokes before. But, I mean, come on! Who's ever heard of a giraffe in a bar before?" Vaughn added sullenly, "I think it's a perfectly justified question."

Weiss snorted and took a large gulp of his Coke to help him swallow down a particularly lumpy piece of sandwich that was stuck in his throat. Once his throat was clear, he said, "Jokes aren't supposed to make sense. Their supposed to be stupid and dumb."

"Well, I think you're doing a good job then."

Weiss glared at Vaughn. "Screw you man. I've heard your repertoire of five jokes and let me tell you that that cricket bar joke is as good as you get." Weiss thumped his hand against his chest and said proudly, "I, on the other hand, am a master. You could learn many things from me, young one."

Vaughn raised an eyebrow merely in response. He knew Weiss would be looking for more of a reaction, so he wasn't going to give him one. True to form, Weiss's smile faded from one of expected gloating to one of disappointed frowning. Vaughn laughed.

Weiss glared. "Haha, laugh it up fuzzball. Can I get on with my joke now?"

Vaughn merely shrugged and took a sip of his ice cold Coke. Weiss continued on, "Anyway, as I was saying, a man, a giraffe, and a monkey walk into a bar. The man and the monkey sit down at the bar and the man orders three beers..."

Vaughn interrupted again just to piss Weiss off. It was a lot of fun to see Weiss frustrated and angry. He was usually such a laid back guy. "Wait. Why is the monkey at the bar?"

Weiss threw his hands up in the air in frustration and gritted out a loud string of incomprehensible sounds, "Arrrrrrrrrrrrrg!" Vaughn tried to stifle his reaction, but he soon lost control when he saw a vein start to pulse on Weiss's forehead. Before he knew it, he was laughing uncontrollably.

Weiss sent a death glare in Vaughn's direction and took another large bite out of his sandwich to help himself cool down. It wouldn't be good to kill Vaughn. For one thing, the deli they were in had too many witnesses, plus he knew Sydney would not be very happy with him, and he would never be able to get revenge if Vaughn was dead. So Weiss just gritted his teeth.

"Are you finished yet?"

Vaughn said in between laughs, "Almost. Man, you should have seen your face."

Weiss just shook his head. "You know, I can't let something like this go unpunished."

Vaughn calmed down and goaded Weiss defiantly, "Do your worst. You can't touch me."

Weiss was more than up to the challenge. "Oh yeah. I know more about you than you think." Weiss grinned evilly. "I'm sure Sydney would be more than happy to hear about some of your more...colorful adventures. Like that time you and Nicole Greer got caught by that cop while you guys were in the park..." Weiss's voice trailed off.

Vaughn stiffened and his face lost all its color. He hissed out worriedly, "You wouldn't dare! You swore you would never tell anyone about that night."

Weiss just grinned and said nonchalantly, "Please, Mike, how long have you known me? Of course I would tell her. It'd be worth it just to see the look on her face." Weiss then said in a contemplative tone, "I wonder if she'll laugh her ass off or pity you."

"First off, I had no idea that cop was anywhere near us when we decided to...uh...use that fountain. Secondly, I was drunk so I can't be held responsible for any of the things that I might have done. And thirdly, if you tell Sydney anything I will somehow get Devlin to transfer to the farthest, most hellish place I can find. I'm sure they'll appreciate your jokes there."

Vaughn was getting a little carried away, but as Weiss well knew, Sydney was a touchy subject with him. Weiss tried to make peace. "Ok, I won't tell Sydney anything as long as you let me finish my joke."

"Fine. I was gonna let you tell it eventually, I just wanted to see how pissed you would get first."

Weiss smiled happily and took another drink of his soda. "Great!" Slurp. "Where was I? Oh yeah, now I remember. Ok, so the man buys three beers. Meanwhile, the giraffe is walking through the bar trying to find a empty table. As he does, he spots a beautiful woman sitting by herself. So the giraffe walks up to her and starts hitting on her. A few minutes later, the man and the monkey come walking up to the table and the man hears the woman say, 'Wow, that's a really long neck you have there.'

The man laughs and says to the woman, 'Lady, if you think that's long now, you should wait until he gets you alone.'

The woman doesn't understand what the man is saying and asks, 'Why?'

The man grins and says, "Because his neck is not the only thing that gets fully extended when he tries to eat something.'

Weiss finishes the joke and looks at Vaughn expectantly. When Vaughn doesn't say anything, Weiss asks, "Hey come on, what did you think?"

Vaughn shook his head. "Man, that was just wrong on so many levels I don't know where to start."

"Oh come on, its just a joke. It was funny." Weiss started pouting, "I thought it was funny."

Vaughn smiled indulgently and patted Weiss on his shoulder mockingly. "Its ok Weiss. I'm sure in the bars that joke kills. After all, they're too drunk to know any better."

Weiss shirked Vaughn's hand off his shoulder and said, "Hey! I'll have you know that those guys love me. Whenever I walk in, they always gather around so that I can amaze them with my witty repartee."

Vaughn nodded. "Like I said. Too drunk to know any better."

Weiss just frowns and reaches into his bags of chips and pulls out a dorito. After taking a few crunching bites out of the chip, he glares at Vaughn.

Vaughn, for his part, smiled back innocently. His face scrunched up funnily and he asked, "Why was the monkey in the joke? He didn't do anything."

Weiss looked flabbergasted. "What? The monkey is a joke all by itself. Don't you know it's a well known scientific fact that monkeys add humor to any situation. Just ask the Simpsons."

Vaughn laughed. "Of course. I should have known that. D'oh!" Vaughn said jokingly.

Weiss grinned. "Seriously. Name one time where you've seen a monkey and not laughed. It's a guarantee."

Vaughn just smiled faintly and went back to eating. As he took a bite out of his sandwich, he commented, "These are pretty good. Who would have thought that a blind Chinese guy could make such great sandwiches."

Weiss nodded vigorously as he took a bite out of his own sandwich. "No kidding. He kind of freaks me out though, always asking if you want mayo on your sandwich. Even when its like a meatball sandwich." Weiss lowered his voice and said conspiratorially, "I think he's got some kind of jones for the mayo. Must be the texture. Drives him wild."

Vaughn almost laughed so hard he spit out part of his Coke. He had to bring his hand up to cover his mouth, and managed to stifle some of his laughter. After a few seconds, the other customers in the deli stopped staring at him for his outburst. 

Vaughn calmed down enough to say, "Now that was funny."

Weiss pumped his fist in the air over dramatically. "Yes! And he scores. I knew I would win you over sooner or later."

Vaughn would have made some kind of comment, but he was stopped by the sudden arrival of four men running wildly into the deli. All four men were wearing white T-shirts with the words Free Quebec in bold letters on the front. One of the men yelled out, "Nobody move!" That was when Vaughn and Weiss noticed the guns in their hands.

  


P.S. Ok, what do you think? Should I bury my head in shame, or continue? You decide. This is a work in progress and is something I will work on whenever I get bored. I do not plan to update as often as I do for my other stories. If the response is good, I will continue. If nobody likes it, I might just continue anyway just to piss people off. As you can tell, I'm in a very confrontational mood right now.


	2. Free Quebec!

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


A/N: Well, the response for this story surprised me to say the least. What the hell is wrong with you people!? How can you possibly like this trash? I warn you that this story has absolutely no plot, will constantly become nonsensical, and may even damage brain cells if you people insist on reading it. Anyway, if my insulting you hasn't turned you off, then you're in for a real treat. More crap is waiting for you down below.

  


A/N: Now I must address certain issues. I have two close friends who are avid 49'er fans, and nothing has given me more satisfaction than to rub in their faces that the Niners lost. I am a very mean, and vindictive person :) Although I must say that I feel for Mariucci; he got a raw deal. Its not his fault that Jeff Garcia is a pansy. Not every quarterback can be Joe Montana. Anyway, I hope the Raiders do go all the way (assuming they get past the Titans), but I worry that the Eagles or the Bucs's defense will be too much for them.

Secondly, if you thought that the last chapter was an interesting way of looking at Alias, you ain't seen nothing yet. There are only four things that basically occupy a guy's mind: food, sex, cars, and sports. Expect all four of these to make regular appearances. If this is not floatin yer boat, I suggest you find a different ocean.

And thirdly, I really feel for you French-Canadian Chick. Quick question: is that the proper term for describing someone from Quebec? Quebecers? No wonder I don't like them. I originally thought that nothing could possibly be worse than being a French-Canadian, but now I know that being a French-Canadian from Quebec is the worst thing imaginable. *Shudder* Be forewarned, bashing will be swift and brutal. Eh?

  
  


Chapter 2: Free Quebec!!!

  


Vaughn casually shifted his attention away from the four men gesturing wildly with their automatic assault rifles, and commented to Weiss, who was just finishing off his sandwich, that perhaps they should do something.

In return, Weiss looked put out. "What? I'm eating here! You can't expect me to just drop everything every time some crazies try to rob a deli, can you?"

Vaughn looked chastised and apologized to Weiss. "You're right of course. I don't know what I was thinking."

Weiss nodded his head in understanding. "It's ok. You got a little carried away. It happens to the best of us."

Weiss brought a napkin up to his mouth and carefully wiped a little mayo off his chin. He then flashed Vaughn a wide grin and said, "Hey, you wanna hear another joke? This one is a lot better, I promise."

Vaughn shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, its not like I got anything better to do."

Weiss rubs his hands together eagerly and starts, "Ok. There are three female spies waiting to be executed. A redhead, a brunette, and a blonde. It was an old fashioned firing squad. Now, naturally these women didn't want to die so they came up with a plan.

The redhead says, 'I have an idea. Follow my lead.'

So, as they are lining the redhead up against the wall, a man puts on her blindfold and asks her if she has any last words.

'No,' she replies.

The man says, 'Ok. Ready...aim...'

The redhead yells out, 'Tornado!'

The gunmen all turn around, and the redhead escapes."

At this point, Vaughn interrupts. "Hold on. I think I've heard this one before. This is the one that ends with the blonde yelling Fire, doesn't it?"

Weiss glares at Vaughn sourly. "Damnit! Why do you have to ruin everything? You're the one that told me to tell you another joke."

"No. You're the one who wanted to tell another joke. I was just humoring you."

Weiss glared at Vaughn. He asked huffily, "Well, if you don't want me to tell you another joke, then what the hell do you want to do?" Weiss paused to check his watch. "It's still another 20 minutes before we have to be back at the office."

Vaughn's response was drowned out by the sound of a gun firing. Both Vaughn and Weiss turned to see one of the four men with his gun pointing up towards the ceiling. Both Vaughn and Weiss looked up and noticed four smoking bullet holes.

They then pulled their eyes away from the ceiling to the four men pointing guns at them. One of the men stepped forward, away from the rest, and said angrily, "Excuse me! Do you mind? We are trying to make a bold political statement here and you're talking is distracting us." By the time the man finished, his voice had become whiny and high pitched.

Vaughn stood up out of his seat and splayed his hands at his sides to show he was unarmed. Which of course wasn't the truth, but what they didn't know, could hurt them. He spoke as calmly as he could, "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to stop you from doing whatever you're doing. I'm sure its very important."

The lead man nodded his head vigorously. "Oh it is. It is. We are tired of living under the oppression of an English-only society. We wish to free Quebec from its chains of slavery to the North American majority." 

The man turned back to face his companions and all four pumped their hands into the air. They started chanting, "Free Quebec!"

Vaughn heard Weiss groan. Vaughn turned his head to check out Weiss. He was leaning back in his chair against the wall of the deli and there was a relaxed air about him. His face was filled with disgust. "Oh hell. This is just what I need. Freakin' Canadians."

Vaughn grinned. "They're not that bad. I mean, they do have great hockey teams."

Weiss had to give him that. "I guess, but honestly, what is this crap? Free Quebec? I didn't even know Quebec needed freeing."

One of the armed men heard Weiss and interrupted, "Oh yes, yes. Quebec must be free. There are over 7 million French speaking people in Quebec and yet we are still forced to interact in an English speaking society. We must be free!!"

Vaughn listened in quiet contemplation. When the insane Canadian was finished, Vaughn spoke in a sympathetic voice, "I understand where you're coming from. I used to live in France..."

The four men looked at Vaughn in awe. One man gasped and said, "You lived in the mother country? We are honored to be in your presence."

Vaughn's face reddened in embarrassment. "Uh...thanks, I think."

Vaughn heard Weiss snicker next to him and he sent a quick glare in his direction. Weiss raised his voice and spoke to the four men, "Hey, you guys wanna hear a joke?"

The four men shrugged their shoulders. Weiss took that as an acknowledgment and eagerly began. "That's what I like to hear. Here goes. What does a urine sample and Canadian beer have in common?"

Weiss heard Vaughn groan, along with several of the other customers, but ignored them. So what if he had told this joke before? Meanwhile, the four Canadians were having an impromptu huddle. It seemed they were talking it over. Finally, after about twenty seconds, the leader stepped forward, shaking his head. "We don't know. We're stumped."

Weiss said loudly, "The taste!" He then laughed heartily.

The four Canadians started to laugh, but then suddenly stopped and all four yelled indignantly, "Hey!"

Weiss laughed even harder. While he was still laughing he said, "Y-y-you want to kn-know the correct way to spell Canada? C-eh N-eh D-eh." Weiss could not stop laughing, and the Canadians could not stop scowling.

The leader of the four stepped towards Weiss and Vaughn and started making threatening gestures with his gun. Vaughn discreetly kicked Weiss in his shin and shot him a warning look. He hissed quietly, "Would you shut up?"

Weiss wiped the tears off his cheek and apologized, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. Geeez, I didn't think Canadians were so touchy."

The leader objected strenuously, "We are not Canadians! We are Quebecers!"

Vaughn nodded his head in a patronizing way. "Ok, got it, you're Quebecers. But isn't Quebec part of Canada?"

The leader frowned and acknowledged Vaughn's words and said reluctantly, "Unfortunately yes, but not by choice I assure you. That is why we are here. To fight for Quebecen independence."

"I see. So you guys are like the Basque separatists in Spain, right?"

The leader looked confused. "The Basque who? Never heard of them."

"You know, those guys who want independence for provinces in Spain and France." Vaughn explained.

The leader gasped. "Try to take land away from the motherland? Never!" He then got angry. "How can you accuse us of such a heinous crime. To associate us with such...bad people is wrong. They probably speak English anyway."

Vaughn asked curiously, "What do you have against the English language?"

The man seemed to be searching his mind for a suitable answer. Eventually, he found one. "It is so uneducated. It has been diluted and infected by the vagrancies of different cultures. It's no longer the language it used to be. Whereas the French language is pure and has stayed consistent for the last 400 years. French does not steal from other languages."

Weiss snorted and said sarcastically, "Oh sure, cause French sounds nothing like German, Spanish, or Italian."

The leader frowned. "Yeah...well...at least D'oh isn't an actual word in our language. So there!" The man finished with a satisfied smile on his face.

Weiss snorted and was going to continue arguing, but Vaughn put a hand up to shut him up. "Let's agree to disagree, ok guys?"

Both the leader of the free Quebecers and Weiss nodded their heads reluctantly. Vaughn smiled brightly.

Vaughn started to feel a tickle in the back of his throat. "Hey guys, I'm gonna get a drink. Want anything?"

Everybody shook their head negatively. Vaughn shrugged his shoulders and moved up to the deli counter. When he saw the old, blind, Chinese man behind the counter he said kindly, "Hey, Mr. Fan (pronounced fawn), how about another Coke?"

Han (pronounced hawn) Fan mumbled something unintelligibly under his breath and fished a Coke bottle out of the refrigerator unit. He placed it on the counter. He moved over to the register and rung up the bottle, asking as he did with a hopeful smile on his face. "Would you like mayo with that?"

Vaughn just looked at the man strangely. "Uh...no. I'll just take the Coke."

The old man's smile faded. He again mumbled something that Vaughn couldn't hear or understand, and accepted Vaughn's money for the cool refreshing drink. America's Number 1 soft drink.

Vaughn went back to his seat and sat down contently. That Coke had really hit the spot. It was too bad the deli didn't sell beers.

Weiss, meanwhile, was eyeing one of the female customers on the other side of the deli. Weiss motioned with his head to get Vaughn's attention and then pointed out the woman he was checking out. "Check out the brunette over there. You think she'd be interested in going out with me?"

Vaughn studied the other girl and admired Weiss's taste. She was a very beautiful woman, but, unfortunately for Vaughn, she was no Sydney. Ah, Sydney, Vaughn sighed dreamily. Now that was a woman.

Vaughn shook himself out of his self imposed daze to find Weiss looking at him pointedly. Vaughn focused back on the matter at hand. "I don't know. Is she drunk?" Vaughn asked dryly.

Weiss hit Vaughn in the arm. "Hey, man, that was harsh! I'll have you know that I can pick up women perfectly fine on my own. The alcohol just helps, that's all."

Vaughn nodded his head mockingly. "Of course. Why don't you go ask her. Come on Don Juan."

"I would, but there are some psycho Canucks in the way. She's hot but she's not worth dying for."

Vaughn shrugged his shoulders. The woman in question suddenly bent over, picking up something off the floor, and both men got a great view of her very nicely shaped ass. Weiss raised his eyebrows and perked up. "On the other hand, I can think of worse reasons to die."

The leader of the Quebecers was fed up with both Vaughn and Weiss talking and so yelled, "Shut up, eh! Stop talking or else I'll start killing people! You're stressing me out, eh."

A deathly calm settled over the deli, and nobody talked for almost ten minutes until Weiss, who was never known for his patience or keeping his mouth closed, said hopefully, "Hey, anyone wanna hear a joke?"

  
  


P.S. How many of you secretly wish to see Jack in a clown suit? Come on, be honest. You know you want to. Well, it's your lucky... (insert proper measurement of time here)... because when Jack arrives in the next few chapters he will be wearing an outfit that is sure to ensure that hilarity ensues. I'm sure you're also wondering when Miss Sydney, The Incredibly Gorgeous, Ass Kicking Spy Who Never Gets Freaking Jet Lag!, Bristow arrives. She will appear sometime in the next two chapters. When she does, you can rest assured that she will be wearing an extremely hot and sexy, but ultimately ridiculous and gratuitously revealing, outfit. 

P.S. It's good to hear from you again Jada Lynne. I was starting to think you had abandoned me since you haven't reviewed _Angel Dark _in a while. What happened? 

P.S. Now if you'll excuse me, I must once again tell my friend that no, I do not want to see how many beers I can drink before I pass out. I mean Jesus, you can only do that so many times in one week before it begins to lose its appeal. You know what I mean?


	3. And the duck said, Quack!

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


A/N: Jada Lynne, you've given me so much to write about, I don't know where to start. First, you're wrong. Jennifer Garner in a bikini would not make me change my mind about the ending for _For Love of Country_. Now, Jennifer out of her bikini would be another matter entirely :). Second, I feel an odd sense of pride at knowing that my writing is causing another student to fail their finals. I am cackling evilly in glee. If your psych prof asks you why you failed, just point to this story and say you were doing a case study on the works of a deranged mind. Throw out words like paranoid schizophrenia and obsessive compulsive disorder, and tell him/her that I suffer from delusions of adequacy. I've taken psych classes in the past and the profs just love that stuff. 

Thirdly, blaming others for your poor test scores never work. I mean, if telling your prof that the reason you failed your Sociology final was because the keg you drank the night before was full of beer instead of the milk it clearly stated was inside, doesn't work, then I'm afraid you're screwed. Fourthly, because the fact that this note is becoming horribly long winded, you can try to lock me up in your basement, but I am amazingly spry. Maybe if Jennifer was down there urging me on, I would be willing to write you a never ending string of Vaughn stories, but it is highly unlikely. 

  
  


Chapter 3: And so the duck said, "Quack!"

  


"So, in closing, if it sounds like a duck, struts like a duck, and fucks like a duck, it must be a really horny goose."

Loud guffaws broke out amongst the assembled group and Weiss smiled broadly. He mentally patted himself on the back and glanced over at his partner and best friend. When he did, a small scowl broke out on his face. Here he was, providing amusement and lightening the tense atmosphere, and yet Vaughn somehow managed to score all the hot chicks. It just wasn't fair.

Vaughn, for his part, was decidedly uncomfortable. Who wouldn't be uncomfortable when two insanely beautiful blonde women were trying their hardest to occupy every facet of his attention? It goes without saying. After all, Vaughn only wanted Sydney. Lovely, beautiful, sexy as hell Sydney. Ahhhh, Sydney.

Vaughn shook his head violently at that thought. He began to berate himself for thinking such wishful thoughts. Bad Vaughn! How dare you think of Sydney like that, you obsessive freak. You can't break protocol. Protocol is a sacred bond. 

Meanwhile, the two blondes were arguing with each other over who Vaughn belonged to. Blonde #1 said, "He's mine! I saw him first!"

Naturally, Blonde #2 disagreed. "I don't think so you skanky bitch! I saw him first! Back off!"

Blonde #1 let out a cry of outrage and leapt at Blonde #2. Soon both blondes were wriggling on the floor, fighting each other. By now, of course, all the men in the deli were staring at the blondes in rapt fascination. After all, everyone knows that a man cannot resist watching two women fighting. It's just not possible.

Seconds later, a ring had formed around the two wrestling blondes, and the brunette that Weiss had been checking out earlier was chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Bets were being taken. "I got twenty on the blonde one!" One guy shouted.

Another shouted, "They're both blonde, you idiot!"

"Uh...right! Fine, twenty on the one that just lost her shirt."

Money began changing hands, and Vaughn moved over to stand next to Weiss who had a smug smirk on his face. Weiss noticed the dour look on Vaughn's face and frowned. "You know, this is the kind of stuff men have dreams about. Dear Penthouse forum....and such and such. I would think you'd be enjoying this."

Vaughn tried to smile, but he only got about halfway. He explained his attitude to his baffled friend, "Normally, I would. But life just doesn't seem as fun without Sydney. Don't you know its all about Sydney?"

Weiss sighed in violent exasperation. He then smacked Vaughn upside the head. "What the hell is wrong with you man? You don't need Sydney."

Vaughn stared at Weiss incredulously. "But without Sydney, I'd never show up in any scenes!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Weiss asked confusedly.

"Don't you know?" Weiss just looked blank. Vaughn added, "Come on! Don't tell me you haven't seen those cameras following us around."

Weiss still had no idea what Vaughn was talking about. "Sorry man, I have no idea."

Vaughn threw his hands up in the air in defeat. Wearily he said, "Never mind." He then turned back to find out how the fight was progressing. From what Vaughn could see through the ring of onlookers, it looked like the fight was drawing to a close.

Now, of course, following the natural order of events that always progress from a fight between two hot women, the two blondes were making out. Of course, this is how everyone expected the fight to end. There was never any doubt. Vaughn was just happy the women were no longer focused on him.

Since the fight had drawn to its inevitable conclusion, it was time to collect debts. "Ok, pay up guys. It has been unanimously decided by the deli boxing commission that the blonde(who just happened to be Blonde #1 for all you continuity purists out there) on top has won by technical knockout."

Several loud groans could be heard. Apparently, most people had placed their bets on Blonde #2. Her tough talk had obviously threw them off.

One of the particularly loud grumblers was the leader of the four Quebecers. He handed his money, fifty dollars, to the eventual winner. The winner took one look at the money and said angrily, "Hey! What is this crap? It's Canadian!"

The leader's face flushed in embarrassment and he said meekly, "I'm sorry. We sort of forgot to get some American money before we came down here. That's all I have."

The man just shook his head in disgust. He turned his back on the leader and mumbled angrily to himself, "Damn money is about as useful as toilet paper." Of course, he still pocketed the money.

Vaughn walked up to the lead Quebecer, who was still recovering from his embarrassment, and asked him a question that had intrigued him for a while. "Why are you here?"

"It's a funny story actually. You see, we left Quebec to go to New York City where we were going to attack the United Nations, but he," The leader pointed an accusatory finger at one of the other Quebecers, "made a wrong turn. Before I knew what was going on, we were already halfway to L.A. So I figured we might as well just keep going."

The man paused. "Besides, New York gets screwed enough as it is, so we decided to spread the love a little bit. I mean, honestly, when was the last time you saw L.A. get its ass kicked in a movie?"

Vaughn couldn't argue with the man, he made some valid points. The leader continued. "Speaking of which, did you know that more and more movies are being made in Canada these days?"

Vaughn was insulted that he would ask that. "Of course I know. I live in L.A. after all. I read Variety just like everyone else." Vaughn then mumbled under his breath, "Damn Canadians."

The Quebecer continued on, completely oblivious to Vaughn's discomfort. "Don't you think that's great? Gives Canada a chance to spread its influence; gives us a voice in Hollywood. Of course all the movies are in English, but we can only work on so many problems at once."

Vaughn was outraged. "Great? Great!? Are you kidding? Hollywood loses hundreds of millions of dollars every year because of the great northern migration."

The Quebecer shrugged his shoulders in indifference. "Oh well. Not my problem."

Vaughn wanted to violently smack the man for his apathy. But then he remembered that he had a gun, and so did three of his friends, so he restrained himself. Vaughn left the Quebecer before he could lose control and went in search of Weiss.

He spotted his friend talking to the beautiful brunette he had seen Weiss checking out earlier. He walked over, hoping to butt in, he was bored and pissing Weiss off would be fun, and overhead their conversation.

Weiss exclaimed loudly, "You mean to tell me you've never been kissed before?"

The brunette nodded sadly. "Nope. I could never find that right guy."

Weiss couldn't help but stare at her incredulously. "Next thing you'll be telling me is that you've never been to a one-hour photoshop before."

The brunette's eyes widened in amazement. "Wow! They have one-hour photoshops now?"

Weiss groaned. That was when Vaughn made his appearance known. Sitting down heavily in the booth next to Weiss, he flashed the brunette a charming smile. Vaughn said to a surprised Weiss, "Why don't you introduce me to your new friend."

Weiss grudgingly made introductions, "Michael Vaughn, this is Connie Drew. Connie Drew, meet Michael Vaughn."

Vaughn politely stuck his hand over the table and shook the hand of the woman opposite him. Naturally, Connie began to swoon. Obviously, the green eyed, gorgeous Vaughn was swoon worthy or else why would so many girls be in love with him?

Connie's reaction to Vaughn did not go unnoticed by Weiss, and he groaned in defeat. He hid his face in his hands and knew that he had lost another one to the green eyed monster. Weiss should have been comforted by the fact that Connie did nothing for Vaughn, but since he couldn't read minds, he was up a creek without an onboard engine (Paddles are so passe). 

Like I mentioned earlier, Connie did not interest Vaughn in the least. Can you guess why? Yep, you guessed it. Connie was a man.

P.S.It should be known by all those reading this story, that I am making this entire thing up as I go. I mean that literally. These words I'm writing right now are the same words that just formed in my mind mere minutes ago (the time delay is due to my thoughts having to travel through an alcohol induced haze). This story is going nowhere. Mainly, it is just a platform for me to pontificate on how much I love Jennifer Garner. Everything else is secondary. Really, it is. This whole storyline with Vaughn? Meaningless. Just kidding. I guess I can begrudgingly make room for Vaughn somewhere. Just to make you girls out there happy. Maybe I'll even write a scene where his shirt miraculously come off and he has to go the rest of the story half naked.

P.S.Quick question. Should I actually name the Quebecers? I'm tempted to just call them those guys. Keep them anonymous, or not? Share with me or no shirtless Vaughn.

P.S.This may or may not be the last chapter for this story in a while. It depends on how fast I write chapter 12 for Angel Dark. It may take me awhile for many reasons. The next chapter is the longest, most in depth chapter yet in the story. I have a pretty firm idea on where I'm going with the story, and plan to end it tentatively in three more chapters.


	4. Mr Fan's shirtless Happy Hour

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


A/N: I just have to dedicate this chapter to Sandpiper. Thanks to you, I now have a very pleasant image-shirtless Sydney. Also, thanks for the idea of everyone going shirtless. You're right, it is the perfect setup for having a shirtless Sydney, which is something I think the show is sorely lacking. As for you sounding like a guy, you came oh so close, but you're comment about just kidding kind of nullified everything you said. A guy would have latched onto the concept of a shirtless Sydney and never let it go. Good show, though.

  


A/N: Hey Jada, I'm really interested in hearing how that whole quote at work went. I can't believe someone actually wants to quote me. It seems so surreal. And as for Weiss's interest in Connie, let's just say that Connie's doctor was a truly gifted man. Also, you weren't the only one who had a bit of luck during finals. I had a U.S. History final cancelled because the college lost power. So I got an automatic A. Well, I already had an A, but it was the principle of the thing.

  


A/N: I know I said that I wouldn't post until chapter 11 is done for Angel Dark, but I'm going through some horrendous writer's block and this story is helping me get through it. Chapter 11 is about 25% done. I hope to finish before Sunday's big post Super Bowl episode. My goal is Friday afternoon, Saturday night at the latest.

  
  


Chapter 4: Mr. Fan's shirtless Happy Hour

  


"Two pair. Deuces and tens." Weiss said triumphantly. A loud string of groans erupted from the five people he was playing with. Weiss smiled smugly and reached out to grab the small pot of cash, which, coincidentally enough, contained a significant amount of Canadian dollars.

Vaughn asked disbelievingly, "How do you do it? That's five hands in a row."

Weiss grinned haughtily, "Not a chance in hell. The secret to my success will remain more closely guarded than the secret of what McDonald's french fries are made of."

Vaughn became sullen and said, "Fine!"

Weiss just continued grinning. Finally, he had something he could lord over Vaughn. Sure, it wasn't the irresistible pull of Vaughn's amazing sexiness, or Vaughn's seemingly unfailing ability to always be right, but god damn it, he could play poker and nobody was going to take that from him.

What Weiss didn't know, unfortunately for him, was that Vaughn happened to be perfect in every way. Naturally, perfect people can't suck at poker, and so by some miracle, or perhaps just lazy writing, Vaughn suddenly mastered the art of playing poker.

Four hands later, and Weiss was pennyless, and because a proper ass whooping wouldn't be complete without abject total humiliation, he was also shirtless. Vaughn had literally taken the shirt right off his back. But hey, not to worry, Weiss managed to maintain some modicum of dignity. It seemed that Connie had taken quite the liking to shirtless Weiss, and that made him feel better. Maybe she wasn't as interested in Vaughn as he had feared.

Meanwhile, being the dutiful anal retarded guy that he was, Vaughn was neatly stacking his winnings in easy to access piles. Canadian money was in that pile, which happened to be separated by denominations, and good old American greenbacks in the other pile, which also happened to be sorted by denominations. It was one neat, orderly, rule-driven picture. Just like Vaughn, because remember, protocol is a sacred bond.

After he had finished sorting his money, Vaughn carefully placed it in a Mr. Fan's Deli to-go bag. It wouldn't do to have the money go flying every which way. He needed that money. It had been a while since he had bought Sydney a present, and there was a great antique shop just down the street from his apartment.

Vaughn placed the bag of money on the ground under his seat and moved his head back up to catch Weiss's eye. He saw a look of betrayal and disbelief in the man's eyes. He asked defensively, "What?"

Weiss moved his hand up and down, drawing attention to his lack of clothing. "I can't believe you actually took the shirt right off my back. You didn't even let me take it off first."

"Hey, I won that shirt fair and square. It's not my fault you couldn't tell the difference between a suicide king and a one-eyed pirate." Vaughn didn't like being attacked. He really didn't.

Weiss shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know how you did it man, but when I find out, you are so going to pay."

Vaughn just shrugged his shoulders. "What are ya gonna do?" Vaughn asked rhetorically.

Weiss suddenly felt an intense urge to smack Vaughn. Can you blame him? Who out there hasn't wanted to smack Vaughn at least once? If the man would just stop obsessing over Sydney...

Anyway, back on track, you know, if this story actually had one, Vaughn and Weiss left the group of fellow players, and walked up to the deli counter to get something to drink. In a gesture of appeasement, Vaughn offered to buy Weiss's soda.

Weiss thanked Vaughn sarcastically, "Thanks man. What would I do with out you?"

"Probably disappear for months at a time with hardly any mention at all. I mean, I know getting shot in the neck is serious, but come on, three months? It doesn't take that long to recover. What were you trying to do, star in your own show?" Vaughn asked curiously.

Weiss instantly became nervous and uncomfortable. "Uh...I don't know what you're talking about."

Vaughn scoffed, "Please, like that excuse ever works."

Weiss added emphatically, "Well I don't. I'm here now aren't I?" He became thoughtful and said, "However, if I happened to disappear for long periods of time again, don't worry, I'm just on an unexplained vacation."

Vaughn wasn't buying Weiss's excuse for a minute, but he didn't push him on it because he figured he owed him a little slack. Vaughn just shrugged his shoulders.

Vaughn turned his attention back to Mr. Fan and gave him the correct amount of money. Fan took the money with a smile on his face and placed it in his cash register. Both Vaughn and Weiss grabbed their sodas and were about to walk away when Fan spoke up in his aged voice, "You both seem like such nice boys."

Vaughn and Weiss smiled at him faintly and walked away. Meanwhile, the heat raised suddenly.

  
  


Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau exhaled loudly and flapped the wad of Fan napkins rapidly in front of his face. Somehow, the temperature in Mr. Fan's Deli had rapidly raised almost 25 degrees in the last fifteen minutes.

The temperature had gone from a semi-pleasant 73 degrees, which was still exceedingly hot because, well, a hot day back home was like 70, to an almost overwhelming 98. Jean was still trying to figure out how the temperature had changed so quickly. He had heard of some strange things happening in L.A. before, but this was too bizarre even for him. It was almost like some unforseen supernatural force had suddenly raised the temperature to help further along a plot that didn't really exist or made much sense, but was there nonetheless.

Jean looked over at the two Americans that he had been keeping an eye on since he and his fellow Quebecen independence fighters had stormed the nearly impenetrable deli. One of the Americans, he remembered him to be Weiss, was animatedly talking to his companion, the French born, nearly god like Vaughn.

Jean noticed that both men had their shirts off, which was generating quite a number of stares. It wasn't every day such studly men happen to lounge around half-naked. Neither man seemed to notice that people were staring at them and were instead engrossed in an argument about which car was cooler: the classic Ford Mustang or the Corvette. 

It was Weiss who blurted out, "No way man! The Mustang had way more room in the backseat!"

Vaughn shook his head emphatically. "I'm telling you that the Corvette was more spacious. Not only that but the quality and the craftsmanship of the upholstery was better."

Weiss still wasn't convinced. "I don't know. The Mustang offered a much more varied color scheme. Plus the floor mats were much nicer."

Jean tuned out the inane talk of the two, and instead studied them better. Both men were sweating, but you know in a sexy way, because this is TV, uhh...I mean real life, after all. Rivulets of sweat were running down the lean, but muscled and chiseled chest of Vaughn. His body glistened in the dim glow of the deli lighting. Jean had never seen such a sight before and he wished... Ok, this is getting a little too gay for me. Back to the blondes!

Both blondes had removed all but the barest amount of clothing needed to remain decent. They were still wrestling, but in a very playful way. It was obvious they had become fast friends. In fact, Blonde #1 was doing this really great thing with her tongue...

Jean managed to tear his eyes away from Vaughn and instead did a sweep of the deli. Everybody had removed at least some clothing, and to Jean's shock, they all were very attractive people. It seemed that just about anywhere you looked in L.A., the people were all perfect, even in a Chinese deli.

Unfortunately, the four Quebecers were not from L.A., and so they stood out. It wasn't their fault though. They're from Canada. Jean blamed Canada for his less than attractive appearance. All that snow and cold weather, combined with too much beer, not to mention all the frequent moose outings, had turned Jean even less attractive than a toothless hick from Kentucky. Not even Jerry Springer would want him.

Jean sighed in a suffering tone and picked up his gun. He started patrolling the inner perimeter of the deli. It was so much hard work being a freedom fighter.

Jean had just about finished his sweep of the deli when he heard a loud rumbling sound coming from above him. Looking up dumbly, the gun grasped limply in his hand, Jean wondered why the ceiling was making noise.

The noise continued to grow, and soon everyone was looking at the ceiling as well. In fact shirtless Vaughn and shirtless Weiss had joined Jean in staring slack jawed at the ceiling. It was almost as if somebody was moving around inside the ceiling.

All of a sudden, the ceiling cracked loudly, and a shower of white powder and ceiling materials came crashing down atop the three men. Since Vaughn and Weiss were glistening with sweat, the white powder stuck to their skins, making them look like unemployed, shirtless, mimes. They were even moving their hands around in a vain attempt to ward off the debris. Trying to create a box around them.

Once the air cleared and everybody could see clearly, they got their first look at what had caused the sudden loss of structural cohesion. Hanging in a tangled web of rope, was the super sexy Sydney Bristow.

When she saw the look of total shock and disbelief on the faces of the three men, she blushed. She said in a quiet voice, "Uh...hi"

Sydney's voice brought Vaughn out of his dazed stupor. The shock of seeing Sydney falling from the ceiling was soon replaced by the shock of seeing what Sydney was wearing. Vaughn's eyes bugged out of his head when he saw Sydney was wearing a pair of skin tight leather pants and...nothing but a bra. Are you sensing a pattern here? Vaughn, overwhelmed at seeing more of shirtless Sydney than ever before, fainted. Wouldn't you?

P.S. If anybody has ever seen the movie Boondock Saints, they know where I got Sydney's entrance from. If you haven't seen it, I recommend it. However, you should be forewarned. The movie is rated R and is very violent with lots of adult language. It's worth it though. The scene where one of the main characters illustrate the diversity of the word fuck is absolutely hilarious and oddly educational. Before I saw that scene, I did not know you could have an entire conversation using just that word.

P.S. I hate school. I loathe it with a fiery passion. Unfortunately, I must go to school or else, well, my parents cut me off. And that would just plain suck. Can you believe I major in History? If you can believe that, try this on for size. Would you believe that the U.S. Navy actually wanted to recruit me for their nuclear physics program? Scary thought, I know. I love big explosions as much as the next guy, but even I wouldn't trust myself around a nuclear reactor. It was either that, or go into military intelligence. Kind of ironic, isn't it? For two years, those guys hounded me until I finally made them understand that I wasn't interested in living a life where my work would be classified. 

P.S. One last thing. Go Raiders! As happy as I am that the Raiders won, I'm kind of disappointed because now I'm going to have to choose between my two favorite teams. I happen to be a big fan of the Bucs, so I'm conflicted on who I should root for. I will more than likely finely decide on the Raiders, but it won't be an easy choice. I mean, the Bucs have their own pirate ship. How cool is that? I mean the Black Hole is great, but its hard to compete against a pirate ship. Arrr!


	5. They shoot clowns don't they?

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


Dedication: I am dedicating this chapter of Ham and Cheese (And all my other Alias fanfic) to Angela Evans and Jada Lynne. I don't know whether I should be touched by your...enthusiasm, or whether I should look into getting a restraining order. You guys are the best fans I have ever had, and Jada, you are truly a unique person. I don't know what it is I like about you, but you make me laugh so whatever it is you want I will try my best to make happen. Also, I like the fact that it truly does seem like I'm the only male fanfic writer in the whole freaking fandom. That is scary on so many different levels. I blame all the ramblings below this on you two.

Author's Note: In honor of the recent Sydney Skincapades, I've decided to grace you all with a new chapter for Ham and Cheese. Its not Angel Dark, I know, but you know what they say:'Beggars can't be choosers.' You should all be happy I'm writing at all. Think of this chapter as a warmup. Not only am I writing because of the inordinate amount of skin that JG has been showing lately (Thank you J. J.), but I also happen to actually be in a good mood for once. I haven't been this happy since, well since the Super Bowl ep. For those of you who know me, I think you know why. Black lingerie is all I really need to say. 

Why am I so happy you ask? Because I ran into an old friend today and he told me he and a buddy were trying to get an indie film off the ground, and he wanted to put together the old crew again. I, along with about twenty others, back in high school, had a group where we did independent plays and movies. It feels good to get back into that kind of atmosphere, especially since my friend says he's going to try and get this movie to a much wider audience. I just hope I get to be a part of it again. It would be great to get behind the camera again.

Anyway, it is my goal to appall, disgust, and insult you with my total objectification of the female body. Ooooo, are you mad yet? No? Well wait, there's more. I hope you enjoy my male chauvinistic viewpoints. I know I do :) Mmmm, Jennifer Garner in a bikini. Now as long as my girlfriend doesn't see this, I should be all right. She has a tendency to physically abuse me when she gets angry.

But I digress. I figure if the women out there can wax poetic on the wonders of Michael Vartan (to be fair, I probably spend way too much time thinking about him myself), its only fair that I get the same opportunity. I could spend hours telling you why I love JG so much, but since FanFic.net banned NC-17 posts, I have to restrain myself. Lets just say she is gorgeous and leave it at that. And that smile, damn I love that smile. Is it possible for a guy to swoon? I've never seen it happen before myself, but if it is possible, its safe to say I do it every time I see JG smile. I love those dimples. It's a shame I'll never meet her in real life because it would be great to see that smile for real at least once in my life. Oh well, such is the burden of the lowly college student.

Now to be serious for a minute (As if that's possible). The response has been positive enough that I've decided to continue Angel Dark. However, I'm going to take things slow. I have to feel my way around this new version of Alias. I'm not setting any deadlines because I honestly don't know when I'll actually finish.

And I meant to say this earlier, but thanks for all the support. It means a lot to me and it really helped me out during my Troubles. Thank you very much. And before I forget, let me add this. Long live SpySex!!!! It's about damn time and I hope it never ends. Unfortunately, I know it will end. This is J. J. Abrams were talking about here. He's the same guy that had Felicity changing boyfriends practically every other freaking episode. I do not put much faith in the S/V relationship lasting past the end of the season. There is like some unwritten rule in Hollywood that couples on TV can't stay together. It would be nice to actually see one go against the norm, but I wouldn't hold my breath. Plus who knows how SpyDaddy will react, and lets not forget that pesky habit of Syd's boyfriends dying on her. We just have to take what we get now and be thankful we got something at all. Now onto the story.

  


Chapter 5: They shoot clowns don't they?

  
  


"Vaughn! Can you hear me?" Sydney shook Vaughn's shoulder violently. When he didn't wake up, Sydney slapped him none too gently across the face. "Wake up!"

Vaughn's eyes fluttered and his impossibly green eyes zeroed on the hunched form of Sydney standing over him. His eyes roamed over her body and settled on her chest where there was nothing but a lacy black bra. The smooth skin of Sydney's body looked so inviting and Vaughn had to restrain himself from touching her.

Instead he decided to whine. "Owwww! You didn't have to hit me so hard!"

Sydney frowned at Vaughn as he slowly climbed to his feet. Under her breath she muttered, "Baby."

Vaughn started and looked at her sharply, "What did you say?"

Sydney just smiled innocently and shook her shoulders. Vaughn turned around, so he didn't have to look at her, and muttered almost inaudibly, "SpyBarbie."

An audible gasp came from behind him and he turned around quickly. Sydney had a look of shock on her face. "What did you call me?"

Vaughn smiled widely. "I didn't say nuthin."

Sydney waggled her finger at him accusingly. "Yes you did. You called me SpyBarbie. Me!?"

"How do you know what I said?" Vaughn asked defiantly.

Sydney gave him a pointed look and said, "Hello? Super hearing. Duh! I'm a super, sexy, secret agent remember?"

"Oh right, my bad. Forget I asked."

Sydney shook her head dismissively. "Already done."

Someone cleared their throat and the world's most attractive people turned to face a shirtless, powder encrusted Weiss. Weiss was frantically wiping Fan napkins against his body trying to get the powder off. All he accomplished was creating an albino zebra look. White powder alternating with slightly tan skin.

Weiss saw that he had the attention of the duo. "Would you two please stop flirting. We have more important things to do than compare whose chest is better. (Huh? Oh sorry, my mind drifted back to Sydney in the black lingerie. Back on track now.) What I mean, uh...shut up and help me get this stuff off me!"

Vaughn started cracking up at Weiss appearance. He reminded him of this mime that used to sleep on the park bench near his old house in France. People tried to pay him, but since he could never seem to get out of his box, the money just collected on the ground. Ah how he missed the good old days.

Vaughn shook his head and white powder came showering down. That was when he remembered that he was covered in the white chalky substance as well. Now it was Sydney's turn to laugh. 

"You guys look whiter than Michael Jackson on a sunny day. I wish I had a camera right now. I'm sure Kendall would love to put this on his Wall of Constipation."

Both Vaughn and Weiss frowned. But then they looked at each other, their eyes connected and a silent communication passed between them. Before Sydney knew what was going on, she was in the middle of a shirtless Vaughn and Weiss manwich. Sydney squealed as the two men got white powder all over her.

Once the two men were satisfied that enough of their white substance was all over her (Ooo, bad mental image there), they moved away from Sydney and surveyed their handiwork. Enough of the powder had transferred to Sydney's slim and toned body, and she looked pretty hot. Well, to Vaughn she always looked good. But the white really emphasized the black bra she was wearing. And once again Vaughn had to avert his eyes. It was getting very hard not to stare. 

Meanwhile, Sydney was still recovering from the unexpected embrace. That soon changed and her face reddened in anger. As she was plotting her revenge, Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau, the leader of the Quebecens, interrupted the three of them.

Jean raised his gun and pointed it at Sydney. "Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt, but who the hell are you?"

Sydney batted her eyes coquettishly and said breathily, "Who? Me?"

Jean rolled his eyes. "What other half naked woman dropped from the ceiling? I may be French-Canadian, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid."

Weiss jumped in, "Isn't that like an oxymoron?" 

Jean just looked at Weiss dumbly and Weiss just smiled smugly. Jean waved his hand with the gun, the gun roaming wildly. "Whatever. Back to my earlier question."

"Oh right. Well you see, I can explain everything."

"Really? Ok, that's great." Jean then walked away.

All three CIA agents stared at the retreating back of their nemesis in shock. Vaughn and Weiss shook their shoulders in tandem and focused their attention on Sydney. Besides, why would they look at some ugly ass French-Canadian when they could look at Sydney? Why does the chicken cross the road? Why does my hair always part to the left instead of the right like I want it? Why do the ABC network execs have a job when Disney could save so much money and replace them with much more capable and intelligent monkeys? No one knows the answers to these questions, so I'm going to stop asking them.

Vaughn asked conversationally, "So, why did you fall through the ceiling?"

Sydney crossed her arms across her chest, which only served to emphasize her insanely perfect breasts (I know I'm being shameless here, but I can't help myself. My girlfriend isn't around to be a good influence on me. She's in class right now.) "It's a really funny story actually. You see I was crawling through the air ducts..."

Vaughn interrupted, arching a white brow. "Have you heard of the front door Syd?"

Sydney looked put out. "Like I'm going to just walk through the front door when there are crazy Quebecers with guns patrolling the building. You wouldn't want me to get shot would you?"

Vaughn hastily replied, "Of course not! But come on, the air ducts?"

Sydney replied defensively, "Hey, it happens in movies all the time! How was I suppose to know the building had shoddy construction?"

"This is L.A. What building doesn't have shoddy construction? Plus, Syd, going through the air ducts never works in the movies. Its like totally cliche."

Sydney shrugged her shoulders. "So? This whole concept is cliched. I mean I'm wearing a bra and leather pants for Christ sakes! Stuff like this doesn't happen in the real world. Just like people don't normally wear high heels after coming out of the pool."

Weiss, who had been pretty much ignored up to now (Ironically, just like on the show) butted into the conversation before it could escalate into a full blown thinly veiled display of sexual tension and obvious frustration. "Speaking of which, why are you not wearing a shirt?"

Sydney blushed and fidgeted nervously. "Uh...I was crawling around and the shirt I was wearing got caught on something. When I tried to pull it loose, I moved around too much and I fell through the ceiling. Without my shirt." Sydney started pouting by the end of her explanation.

Vaughn wasn't sorry in the least. "That's too bad Syd. I really feel for you."

Sydney could tell that Vaughn didn't mean what he was saying and she blushed slightly. That was when she noticed that Vaughn wasn't wearing a shirt either. It was amazing that she hadn't noticed earlier, but the fall had made her a little woozy.

"So why aren't you wearing a shirt?" Sydney asked curiously. Not that she was complaining. Shirtless Vaughn was a sight to behold. His lean, but firm and taut muscles, rippled across his chest...Ok, I'm sorry. I can't do this. I may have a crush on the guy, but I just can't bring myself to describe him in detail. Sorry ladies. Use your own imagination; I'm sure you'll be able to create a more vivid picture than me.

Now Vaughn blushed. "Honestly, I don't even remember why I took my shirt off. I think it had to do with it being too hot, but I just don't know."

Sydney spoke before she thought. "Well if you ask me, I think it's a good look for you. In fact I'm sure you would make a lot of people happy if you never wore another shirt again."

When Sydney realized what she said, she gasped and blushed a deep red. Vaughn blushed as well, and Weiss, well Weiss just snorted in disgust. God, he just wished the two of them would just do the hibbity dibbity and be done with it. He didn't know if he could take anymore of their crap. It just wasn't fair. When was he going to get his own Sydney? Maybe that brunette would be interested? It was worth checking out. Weiss left the two sexually frustrated agents and started searching for Connie.

Neither Sydney or Vaughn noticed Weiss leave. They were in their own little world that consisted of just them, a jar of mayonnaise, and a lonely French mime. 

Sydney and Vaughn started moving together. Neither knew what they were doing. The only thing they knew was that they had to do it. Their mouths crashed together in a pornoesque kiss, and Vaughn's strong arms grabbed Sydney's waist and pulled her closer. They just stood there in the middle of Mr. Fan's Deli, two extremely white white people attempting to suck each other's tongues down their throat. It was such a beautiful scene that the Quebecers started to cry.

Sydney and Vaughn would have continued to try and set the Guinness book of world records for longest kiss if hadn't been for the sound of the front door opening. The jingling of the bell alerted everyone, including the Quebecers, that someone was coming through the door.

Sydney and Vaughn reluctantly broke apart and focused on the new arrival. To their shock, in front of them stood a man. A man in ten times too big red shoes, red checkered pants, a rainbow puffy shirt with ropes of colorful cloth coming out of numerous pockets, a mop of fire engine red hair, a giant red nose, and a face covered completely in white.

Oh, and did I mention he was carrying a bunch of balloons. No? Well I'm telling you now. Geez, give a guy a break why don't you. 

The four Quebecers warily surrounded the clown and trained their guns on him. Before any of the Quebecers could say anything, the clown broke into a huge smile and said in a happy, peppy voice, "Hey hey! Look what we have here. It's a party. Would you boys like me to make you a balloon animal?"

One of the Quebecers squealed girlishly and said, "Yes!" The other three Quebecers stared disapprovingly at him and he quickly amended in a deep voice, "I mean no. Don't be absurd."

Meanwhile, back in SpyHappyland Vaughn was staring at the clown. There was something about the man that just looked so familiar. For some reason, he felt like he knew the clown. There was something about the nose and the chin that stood out. 

Sudden realization dawned on Vaughn's face and he sputtered intelligibly in disbelief. He turned to Sydney and saw the same reaction on her face. In unison they said to each other, "That's Jack!"

The two turned back to look at Jack Bristow in abject horror. Jack meanwhile, just whistled a jaunty tune.

  
  


P.S. Ok, what did you think? Was it up to my earlier standards? It's been a while since I dabbled in the Alias verse. Give me feedback! Please! I need it like I need more pictures of JG in a bikini.


	6. Indiana Vaughn and the Temple of Hornine...

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


Dedication: To Angela Evans and Jada Lynne. The craziest fans any guy could ever want. Thank you.

  


Author's Note: My dear, sweet, mentally unbalanced Jada thank you ever so much for my reward. If all my readers rewarded me like that, I'd put out a new chapter of Angel Dark every day. Alas, it is not so. Of course, now that you have set a precedent I will expect stuff like that all the time now. I bet you're regretting your decision now. Hehe. And Angela please make sure you keep Jada under control. I worry that she might be getting just a little too clingy.

I'm glad you guys appreciate my sense of humor. Sadly, very few people I know do. My sense of humor is based almost completely on satire and sarcasm and people always tell me that my sense of humor is too complex for them. I blame Voltaire, Mark Twain, and Mel Brooks for my sarcastic sense of humor. They mastered the art of the satirical word.

I can't wait for Sunday's ep. It's the return of SpyMommy! Yay! I love Lena, she is just hot. Those arms of hers are amazing and that voice, oooo it sends shivers down my spine. I hope SpyMommy and Jack give S/V a hard time for their crazy antics. Especially Jack. I can't wait to see Jack and Vaughn have a little heart to heart, if you know what I mean. Jack will probably give the standard 'if you hurt my daughter I'll kill you' speech, but the great thing with Jack is that he actually means it.

Oh and wren, you should know better than to give me fodder like you did. Bad wren. I mean seriously, putting Sydney and edible in the same sentence? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how many innuendos I can get out of that? Have you learned nothing? I could go for days with that kind of material. And no, I don't think its considered cannibalism. If its wrong, then I don't want to be right baby! Oh yeah. 

  
  


Chapter 6: Indiana Vaughn and the Temple of Horniness

  


Vaughn violently shook his head and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He was desperately trying to banish the image in front of him from his mind. He was not seeing Jack dressed up as a clown. He refused to believe that that was what he was seeing. To think otherwise would just be too horrifying.

Vaughn turned to see if Sydney was all right. If he was having a problem accepting Jack, then he could only imagine what was going through her head. Sydney's mouth was slightly agape and her big brown eyes were widened in disbelief. She was frozen in place, staring at Jack in horrified rapture.

Vaughn tentatively put a hand on Sydney's bare shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. Sydney started and turned her head to look at Vaughn. In a desperate tone she begged, "Please tell me that is not my father. My father would never dress as a clown. He doesn't even know how to smile!"

Sydney was starting to get hysterical. Vaughn needed to calm her down before she went loco. So he did the only thing he could think of. He kissed her. A long, deep kiss that instantly stopped Sydney from panicking. Sydney let out a moan of pleasure and Vaughn silently patted himself on the back for being such a spectacular kisser. Oh yeah, he was the man.

They continued kissing for what seemed like hours until Vaughn felt a demanding tapping on his shoulder. Vaughn ignored whoever was being rude and went back to mapping the inside of Sydney's mouth with his tongue.

Again there was a tapping on his shoulder and it was accompanied by someone clearing their throat rather loudly. Vaughn reluctantly pried his lips from Sydney's and turned to face the annoying person with a glare.

When he saw who the person was, he froze in place and his face lost all color. Standing in front of him was Jack with a smile on his face. Of course, the smile never made it to his eyes. No, his eyes were shooting daggers at Vaughn and Vaughn couldn't decide whether he should shit his pants or run, screaming in terror.

Jack spoke directly to Vaughn in a deceptively happy tone, "Well what do we have here? Hmmm, it looks like you were being a very naughty boy."

Vaughn stammered, "Um...um...I c-c-can explain everything." Vaughn then collapsed to the ground in front of Jack and started begging, "Please don't hurt me! I'll never do it again I swear. Just don't hurt me!"

Jack reached out and patted Vaughn's head in a kindly matter. "There, there. Why would I hurt you? I'm just a clown. I don't hurt people, I make people happy. Peace and love for everyone."

Vaughn peeked out from behind his hands. He asked quietly, "You're not going to hurt me?"

Jack laughed deeply. "Don't be silly. Jacko the Smiling Clown would never hurt anybody. Now get off that dirty ground."

Vaughn climbed to his feet and backed away from Jack warily. He still didn't trust Jack not to pull out a gun and shoot him as soon as he turned his back.

When Vaughn was back on his feet, Jack opened his arms wide. "Come and give Jacko a hug."

Vaughn wasn't stupid. He shook his head emphatically. "Uh-uh. I don't think so. I hate clowns. They're like mimes, only ten times more annoying."

Jack's voice hardened and he repeated, "Give Jacko a hug. Now!"

Before Vaughn knew what he was doing, he was already halfway to Jack. Jack enveloped Vaughn in his arms and brought him close to his body. He started squeezing. Jack hissed into Vaughn's ear. "What the hell do you think you're doing touching my daughter?"

Vaughn was speechless. Jack continued, "When we deal with this problem, you and I are going to have a long talk and by the time we're done you'll never want to look at another woman ever again. Least of all my daughter. Now smile and act like you're having a good time." Jack then laughed showily and let go of Vaughn. 

Vaughn pasted a smile on his face and laughed hysterically. Jack then reached for one of his balloons and with surprising skill, formed it into a long spherical tube with two little balls attached to it. Jack then poked it sharply and the balloon exploded into tiny pieces. Vaughn understood Jack's message quite clearly. Vaughn scurried away in search of his much less dangerous friend Weiss.

During the exchange between Vaughn and her father, Sydney was still zooming along on the roller coaster of love in SpyHappyland. When Vaughn had kissed her for the second time, she had been surprised, but her surprise quickly changed to pleasure. Vaughn had very talented lips and one hell of a tongue (Well, naturally, he is French after all). She didn't even notice that her father and Vaughn were talking. She was still recovering.

She came out of her stupefied daze at the exact same moment Jack was giving Vaughn his subtle warning. The popping of the balloon brought her back to reality. Sydney almost shouted out dad but then she remembered that there were four armed Quebecers watching them all curiously. Obviously, her father was in disguise for a reason. At least she hoped he was. She would probably be traumatized for life if he wasn't.

Instead she said, "Um...hi."

Jack turned to face her and shot her a disapproving frown, which was quickly replaced with a smile. Jack hiccuped, "Well hello young lady. Would you like a flower?"

A flower? What the hell? Was her father on crack? Sydney floundered. "Uh...sure."

Jack beamed at her and made her a flower out of two of his balloons. It had a green balloon for the stem and a red balloon made up the flower part. When Jack was finished and he gave it to her, she giggled like a little girl. "Thank you..." She trailed off.

Jack finished her sentence for her. "Jacko. I'm Jacko the Smiling Clown."

Sydney giggled again.

Meanwhile, Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau was getting angry. His face had turned a raddish like color and his hair was sticking straight up. Steam was literally wafting from the top of his head. It was quite a humorous picture.

Jean was sick and tired of having people just barge into the middle of his grandiose plan at perpetuating French domination of the world. First, there was those annoying men who could never seem to keep their shirts on, then there was the woman who had fallen through the ceiling, coincidentally showering him in white powder that was causing his body to break out in hives, and now there was some stupid clown. Well he had had enough. He was mad as hell and he wasn't going to take it anymore.

Jean spastically scratched his arms in an attempt to quell the burning sensation over his body. Those damn hives. He gritted his teeth in determination and picked his rifle off the table he had set it on earlier. He stalked over to Jack and Sydney.

He poked Jack in the chest with the end of the gun rather harshly. Unfortunately, he did so right where Jack's special, standard issue water flower was and the flower squirted Jean right in the face. Jean screamed and dropped his gun.

The gun dropped on Jean's foot and he howled in pain. He started jumping on one leg as his hands alternated between grabbing his foot and wiping his face.

Jack used the sudden distraction to go on the offensive. He quickly scooped up the gun that Jean had dropped, pointed it at Jean, and pulled the trigger. Jean grabbed his chest in a humorous pantomime and he collapsed to the floor.

Jack quickly spun around and promptly shot the three remaining Quebecers. All three fell to the ground with fatal wounds. Not a single one of the hostages was hurt. Everyone in the deli stared at Jack in shock. When Jack saw their looks he just shrugged his shoulders. "What? They're only Canadians."

Everyone in the deli started laughing.

Sydney exclaimed, "You did it dad! Great job."

Jack grinned. Vaughn walked up to the two, with Weiss in tow. Vaughn hated to diffuse the happy mood but he felt it was his duty to point out the obvious. "I wouldn't get too excited guys."

Sydney frowned and asked, "Why not?"

"You obviously have not been paying attention lately. Just because you shot them doesn't mean they're dead. A few episodes from now they will show up after magically surviving the attempts on their lives. Haven't you noticed this common trend?" Vaughn explained.

"So what you're saying is that they're not dead?"

Vaughn nodded his head. "Unfortunately, yes." He paused and crouched next to the body of Jean. He pointed his finger at one of the bullet holes. "Look at his shirt. This is no ordinary material. It's a special form of silk that can only be found in the deep jungles of Guatemala. The shirt only appears to have bullet holes so as to confuse its attacker. Its really quite fascinating."

Sydney, Jack, and Weiss all stared at Vaughn and he fidgeted nervously. He asked defensively, "What?"

Weiss was the first to respond. "Dude, are you cracked?"

"What? No! I just happen to know a lot about clothes. Ok? At least one of us has to look good at all times."

Jack asked, "If he's not dead then why isn't he moving?"

That was an easy question to answer. "He's not moving to confuse the viewer. Its actually a fairly common tactic used by God-like tv producers and hack fanfic writers."

Jack responded, "Oh. I didn't know that."

"That's understandable. Most people don't." Vaughn said sympathetically.

"So if they're not dead, how long until they become self-aware again?" Sydney asked hurriedly.

Vaughn shrugged. "Who knows? It all depends on how long this writer decides to drag out this dumbass plot point. Could be seconds, could be minutes, or it could last until the next chapter. There's just no way of knowing."

"Don't you think we should use this opportunity to get the hell out of here?" Weiss asked pragmatically.

"We could, but that would mean the end of the story and there just aren't enough reviews to do that yet, so no. Besides, I have to make out with Sydney at least three times before the end. It's in my contract." Vaughn said.

Jack growled threateningly and Vaughn took an involuntarily step backwards. "Ok, ok. Maybe I could forgo that last part."

"A wise decision Agent Vaughn." Jack snarled.

Sydney, meanwhile, was pissed. "Wait a minute! You only kiss me because it's in your contract?"

Vaughn paled. "That's not what I meant Syd. Um...um...I-"

Weiss laughed and slapped Vaughn on the back. "You're going to have to do better than that. I really think she's starting to get pissed."

"Thanks for stating the obvious Mr. Always interrupts sexually tense situations." 

Weiss shrugged his shoulders unapolegetically. "Hey, it's the only thing I do. I provide comic relief and piss off the S/V shipper by always interrupting scenes between you two before they get too hot and heavy. It's a shame that's what I've been relegated to this year, but what are you gonna do?"

Ok, what the hell? It seems that I've gotten a little off track. I don't know what the hell is a matter with me. Here we go, this should make a little more sense.

  


Vaughn left the stewing Sydney and walked away from the gaggle of CIA agents. Maybe if he gave Sydney some space she would calm down and he could adequately explain what he had meant by that contract comment. It had been pretty stupid to let that slip.

Maybe if he declared his undying love for her she would forgive him. He nodded his head to himself. Yeah, that was what he would do. He would tell Sydney how he felt about her no matter what Jack said.

Really, what could Jack do to him? Its not like he could kill him. That would certainly piss Sydney off. Hmmm, I suppose he could get me fired, but then again, he has to know that I'm the only one that would do anything for Sydney. Nah, he wouldn't do that. Vaughn was really starting to convince himself that defying Jack wasn't that big a deal.

Vaughn sat down in a booth and picked up the brown hat that was lying on the seat. He put the hat on his head and adjusted it until it sat firmly on his head. He folded the two bills on the side upward and pulled the front down a little, shading his eyes.

He narrowed his eyes to focus on Sydney, who was on the other side of the deli, and psyched himself up. He could do this. He had to do this. The fate of the free world depended on him producing super SpyChildren. This was his purpose.

He would cross the abyss. Dodging attacks from crazy Quebecers, angry clowns, and blind Chinese men offering jars of mayo. He would not fail; he could not fail. He would discover the jewel of Sydney's love. He would enter the Temple of Horniness if it killed him.

Vaughn set his jaw and began his quest. But first, he had to get past the old man guarding the bridge.

P.S. Maybe its because I'm a guy, I don't know, but what the hell was wrong with the black one? For me it doesn't really matter, cause I'd like Jennifer in a burlap sack, but since you ladies are a little bit more objective than I am which outfit did you like better? The black or the red one? I thought the black get up was great; black is definitely a good color for JG.

P.S. And what the hell is up with J. J. and the number 47? I mean we have Page 47, Server 47, and in Double Agent, Lennox was on sublevel 47. Is he like obsessed with the number or something, or does it actually have a purpose. I just thought it was weird.


	7. We are the Secret Agents who say Ni!

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


Dedication: To Angela and Jada. The craziest fans any guy could ever want. Thank you. I write this story for you.

  


A/N: Edele Lane, I will deal with you first before I get to Jada and Angela. Firstly, just because I love JG's smile doesn't mean I don't love her eyes. Believe me when I say that there is not a single thing about that woman that I don't love. Secondly, you really don't want to get in a debate with me on the finer points of JG's body. I could literally go all night. Thirdly, I'm sorry you don't like S/V but I feel the same way about S/W and S/S. I can't stand either one of those relationships. Mainly because I feel that S/W have no romantic chemistry and I don't like S/S because, well, because Sark is evil. Plus there is that pesky spec that a lot of people believe is true about Sarkie actually being Syd's little bro. S/S is a little too close to Hillbilly territory for me. No offense. To each his own. Whatever floats your boat. Ok, I think that's enough cliches for now. I hope you won't stop reading in some form of pissed off rage.

Now, onto the fun stuff. Angela I am so sorry that mean old Jada picked on you. She should be ashamed of herself for forcing you to drink soda. I too know the pain of carbonation burn. I will make sure she is properly punished. *Rubs hands together gleefully* I figured the ladies, you and Jada especially, would appreciate Indiana Vaughn. It is my way of making up for all the gratuitous references to Sydney's chest in Chapter 5.

Its nice to know that my version of Jack terrifies you all. That was my intention, because I seriously can't think of anything more scary than Jack as a clown. I actually had a nightmare about that a few nights ago and it still disturbs the hell out of me. Now if I can just get Jacko to start singing Pop goes the weasel his path to the dark side will be complete.

Jada, where do I begin? First I must express my rage at being sent a picture of Shirtless Sloane. It was only my laughter that prevented me from breaking down in horrified tears at seeing such a disturbing image. Second, I'm sorry I called you clingy. You know why? Because clingy is just not strong enough of a word to describe you correctly. I think words like deranged (delightfully crazy), scary (oddly compelling), mean (humorously willful), and obsessive (actually, this one is right on the money) are a more apt description. I think someone needs a very thorough spanking. Bad Jada. Now let me just bend you over my knee...

Jada, you know you totally love me. Don't fight your feelings. Its not healthy. They say repressed emotions can lead to emotionally damaging activities like sending pictures of Shirtless Sloane to people who provide you with enjoyment. I will stop my assault of Shirtless Noah pics if you promise to give me a proper peace offering. 

  
  


Chapter 7: We are the Secret Agents who say...Ni!

  
  


Vaughn carefully walked up to the bridge keeper. He was an old man with a rough and weathered face, long white hair, and a hunched body. The bridge keeper stepped in front of Vaughn, blocking his path across the bridge.

The bridge keeper yelled at Vaughn in a high pitched voice, "Stop! Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see."

Vaughn squared his body and adjusted his hat. His right hand moved down his body to rest on his hip, and rested the palm of his hand against the end of his whip. Vaughn spoke with air of determination, "Ask me the questions, bridge keeper. I am not afraid."

"What...is your name?"

Vaughn blinked at the simplicity of the question. "My name is Indiana Vaughn of L.A."

"What...is your quest?"

"To seek the Jewel of Sydney and enter the Temple of Horniness."

The bridge keeper paused dramatically before asking his final question. "What...is the density of a Budweiser beer?"

Vaughn asked confusedly, "What do you mean? A regular or a light beer?"

Shock came over the old man's face and he stammered, "Huh? I...I don't know that! Auuuuugh!" The old man was suddenly thrown off the cliff and into the chasm. A loud explosion could be heard seconds later.

Vaughn just shrugged his shoulders and started to make his way across the bridge. After he had traveled only about ten feet, he heard someone yell stop from behind him. He turned around quickly, making the old rope bridge wobble dangerously.

At the beginning of the bridge stood an old man. Much like the one Vaughn had just previously confronted. In fact, he looked exactly like the old bridge keeper. It was almost as if the man had been cloned...uh...I mean genetically resequenced.

The old man was blocking the path of another man. Vaughn figured the other man must have been following him. The bridge keeper started to ask the newcomer the same questions the old bridge keeper had asked Vaughn. Vaughn thought the younger man looked very familiar.

That was when it hit him. The younger man was one of the Quebecers! Vaughn smiled smugly to himself. He had been right when he had said that the Quebecers weren't really dead. There was living proof standing no more than twenty feet away from him.

Vaughn heard the bridge keeper shout, "Stop! Who would cross the Bridge of Death must answer me these questions three, ere the other side he see."

The Quebecer responded, "Ask me the questions, bridge keeper. I am not afraid."

The bridge keeper obliged him. "What...is your name?"

Sudden panic appeared on the freedom fighter's face. "What? I...I don't know that. He never gave me a name! Its not my fault! Don't kil-auuuuugh!"

The Quebecer went flying through the air, much in the same way the old bridge keeper had, and he exploded in much the same matter as well. Vaughn grinned and continued on his merry way.

  
  


"I'm telling you you need to stop Weiss."

Weiss sighed. "I know Sydney, I know. I just can't help myself sometimes."

Sydney patted the top of his hand supportively. "I know its hard Weiss, but as a woman let me tell you that we don't find guys who frequently masticate to be very attractive."

Weiss lowered his head in shame. "I try not to, but it can be so tough sometimes. I mean I'll just be sitting there minding my own business when it'll suddenly call to me. You know? And then all I can think about is reaching down there and just taking a bite out of it because it tastes so good."

"Have you talked to Vaughn about your masticating problem?"

"Nah. I've tried to bring it up a few times but he just gives me a hard time whenever I do. He thinks I should be able to control my masticating impulses." Weiss's voice was very pitiful.

Sydney scoffed, "Surely he masticates too? Doesn't everybody?"

"I guess...but Vaughn's a pretty low key guy. He rarely if ever masticates in public."

"Yeah, well you tell Vaughn the next time he gives you a hard time that its perfectly natural for a guy to masticate two or three times a week. Its not like its going to make you go blind or something," Sydney said firmly.

Weiss smiled faintly at Sydney and said quietly, "Ok. I'll try to remember." He then moved his right hand down to the table and picked up the long subway sandwich sitting there. He brought it to his mouth and took a huge bite out of it, letting out a contented moan.

Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau quietly surveyed Mr. Fan's deli and all its inhabitants. The shirtless woman was talking to one of the shirtless men, the crazy clown Jacko was busy doing the clown shuffle for two kids, the other shirtless man was nowhere to be seen, and Jean seemed to be missing one of his fellow Free Quebecers. All in all, everything seemed pretty normal.

Jean knew he had never really been dead. The special clothes that he and his compatriots wore were specially made from the man eating silk worms of the Guatemala rain forest. The clothes had cost a lot of money, they had to pay extra because they were Canadian, but they were worth it.

Jean's face soured at the memory of what Jacko the Smiling Clown had done to him and his men. Luckily, Jean knew, the writer was trying to milk this story for all it was worth so he knew it wouldn't be ending very soon. He knew that he wasn't going to stay dead for very long. Hence, the Guatemalan clothes.

Jean tried to retaliate against Jacko but every time he got close enough to try, Jacko would smile at him in such a way that it would send shivers down his spine and cause him to break out into a cold sweat. The man was too scary and so Jean and the other Quebecers let him be. Besides, he was too busy making balloon animals and pulling scarves of cloth out of his clothes for Jean to bother.

Jean sighed. Things just weren't going as planned. He needed to change that if he ever expected his organization to ever succeed. The QLF, Quebecen Liberation Front, had been planning for this day for years. The day when they would make their message known to the whole world and win their freedom from English tyranny for forever.

Jean needed to have a meeting with his fellow Quebecers. It was time they got started. It was time they got serious. They would not go quietly into that smog filled night. Today was their Independence Day!

Jean slammed his hand down on the table and yelled out, "Quebecers! To me!"

The remaining two Quebecers came scurrying up, their recently reacquired guns slapping against their legs. They skidded to a stop in front of the sitting down Jean and hastily saluted. Their hands came flying up to their heads, one smacking himself in the eye, the other accidentally smacking his friend in the head.

Both let out cries of pain but quickly composed themselves at the look of disapproval that crossed Jean's face. They stayed quiet; both shooting venomous glares at each other.

Jean began speaking, "We have stayed complacent for too long. It is time for us to act, it is time for us to let the world know that Quebec must be free. Starting here today, in this most hallowed of locations, our crusade will sweep across this county like a towering wave of water, ridding this land of its debauchery, fast food, SUVs, and Anna Nichole Smith. This country will be what it once was. It will be free. It will be French!!"

The two lackeys, caught up in the rapture of Jean's speech, shot their guns into the air. They started yelling, "Free Quebec! Free Quebec! Free Quebec!" Over and over they repeated their mantra.

Jean stood up from his table and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Viva la France!"

Then the three Quebecers marched out into the middle of the deli. Jean swept his arm in a wide arc, encompassing everybody in the deli. "All of you people bear the honor of witnessing the beginning of the great Revolution. Someday you will tell your children of the day you saw Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau lead his brave Quebecers into battle. This is your lucky day. Long live the revolut..."

Jean was cut off by Jack, a.k.a. Jacko the Smiling Clown, who was clapping his hands together excitedly. The three Quebecers turned to face Jack, who was rocking up and down on the back of his heels. Jean angrily confronted him, "What the hell are you doing, eh?"

Jack just grinned, the lips of his big red mouth turning upwards. "It's a party! Do you want me to make you a balloon hat for the party?"

Jean sputtered, "What? No!"

Jack frowned. "You don't want a hat? But Jacko makes such nice hats." His eyes widened and his mouth again formed a smile. "Perhaps you boys would like for me to sing and dance for you? I know a surprising amount of show tunes!" Jack paused and then starting belting out, "If I were a rich man, ya ha deedle dee-"

Jean couldn't scramble fast enough to plug his ears. "Stop! Please for the love of God stop!" Jean and the three Quebecers collapsed to their knees. Jean started begging, "Please stop. I'll do anything!"

Jack stopped abruptly. He contemplated Jean's words. "Anything huh?"

Jean, along with the two nameless Quebecers, nodded their heads profusely. "Anything!"

Jack smiled a huge grin and his eyes lit up with an evil tint. "All right then. There is something I want you to do. I want you to find Vaughn and..."

Meanwhile, back in SpyFantasyland (a.k.a as Disneyland. Let's not forget that ABC is owned by the Mousketeers) Vaughn lifted his hat out of the stream and poured the water over his head. Of course, due to the laws of gravity, the water got all over the rest of him as well. The water soaked Vaughn's tan shirt in porn-like slow motion, which had three buttons undone and was already glued to his chest with sweat.

Vaughn shook his head, spraying water all over the place. He then ran his hand through his hair, tousling it and getting any excess water, before placing his hat back on his head. Vaughn sighed as he felt the coolness of the fresh spring water coat his body in wet comfort. The water felt great on his partly bare chest.

Vaughn then got down on one knee and cupped his hands in the water. He brought the cool water to his lips and drank, satiating his parched throat. He groaned low in his chest at the feeling and smiled lazily out at the forest path he was traveling on.

He was close. So close to finding the Jewel of Sydney and the Temple of Horniness. All his long years of waiting, furtive glances, ambiguous declarations of feelings, and constant chickenshitting was about to come to fruition. He just had to stay on the straight and narrow path and he was sure he would enter the Promised Land. Vaughn got to his feet and set off once again down the path.

After walking for about five minutes, Vaughn was suddenly set upon by four men all dressed in black. Not just any black, no, but black tactical gear. All four men were wearing black pants, black shirts, black shoes, black ski masks, black Kevlar vests, and more than likely black underwear as well but there was no way of knowing for sure. Oops, I almost forgot to mention they were all holding submachine guns. Black of course.

One of the men in black stepped forward and said, "We are the secret agents who say...Ni!"

The three men behind him echoed, "Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!"

Vaughn gasped, "Not the secret agents who say Ni!"

The lead man laughed, "Ha! The very same!"

Vaughn took a step back from the four men he was so shocked. "This can't be!"

The lead man nodded his head gravely (Well actually I don't know if he did, seeing as he was wearing a mask, but lets just assume). "Yes! The secret agents who say Ni demand a sacrifice if you wish to pass."

"What kind of sacrifice?" Vaughn asked intrigued.

"We want...a jar of mayonnaise."

Vaughn stared at the secret agents who say Ni! "What!? A jar of mayonnaise?"

The lead man nodded his head. "Yes. A jar of mayonnaise. It doesn't have to be a big one. Or even a brand name jar. Its just that we need some mayo for our lunches. You can't make good tuna without mayonnaise."

Vaughn put his hands on his hips. "So what you're saying is that if I get you a jar of mayo you'll let me continue?"

"Yes. Bring us a jar of mayonnaise and you may continue along the path. Not bring us a jar and we the secret agents who say Ni! will continue to say Ni until you do."

The three men behind the leader echoed, "Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni!"

Vaughn cringed and said hurriedly, "Ok! I'll bring you you're jar. Just stop!"

The three secret agents shut up immediately. The leader spoke once last time. "Go! Bring us a jar of that which we seek and you will be allowed to pass."

Vaughn tipped his hat to the four secret agents who say Ni! and made his way down the path. Before he knew it, he was back in the deli. It was almost as if he had never left.

P.S. Let me ask you guys something. Do you think I could lower the rating of this story to PG-13 or should I keep it R? I have a feeling I could expose this too a much wider audience if I lower the rating. But I don't know. Tell me if you think it deserves its R rating.


	8. Jacko the Smiling Clown's dastardly plan...

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


Dedication: To Angela and Jada. The craziest fans any guy could ever want. Thank you. I write this story for you.

  


A/N: Once again, I must start with you Edele. In order to maintain an amicable relationship between the two of us, we must agree to disagree. You don't like Vaughn and I don't like Sark, well I do but I like him in a strictly evil capacity only. However, since you are a loyal reader and since I like you, I've decided to give you something special. How would you like Sark to make an appearance? There will be no S/S of course, but I'm sure I could come up with something interesting. How does Sark the Pimp sound to you? Of course, that would be his official title.

Hey Laura, if I'm your hero, then your mine. Seriously, the end of your review put such naughty images in my head that I don't know how to repay you. A threesome with Sydney would be just about the greatest thing in the world and I think I might be able to work you in there some way. That is if I decide to go that route. And I must say, you are a very bad girl. Typing with only one hand? Tsk-tsk. Sounds like you have a masticating problem of your own.

I don't know wren, I might be able to bring in Marshall. Hell, I might as well. I promised to bring in Sark so why not Marshall? While I'm at it, let me just throw the floor open for suggestions. It will make this story so much harder to write but it could be fun. If you or anyone else has any character they would like me to introduce, just make a request and I'll see what I can do.

Now its time for my favorite girls (with the exception of my girlfriend of course. Oh, and my mother. Can't forget mom.). Angela, I want to say that I feel bad for you, but if you're having so much trouble holding your soda in while reading my story, you should STOP DRINKING SODA! Hehe. I kid, I kid. You know I love you. *Gets down on knees and begs* Please don't team up on me with Jada. You're supposed to be the good one and I need you on my side. Please don't go to the dark side!!! And Spaceballs is just about the funniest movie ever! "That is his name, Sir. Asshole, Major Asshole."

Jada, the idea of you naming your first born child after one of my characters is so appealing that how can I not include the Killer Rabbit? Personally, I think the Holy Hand Grenade scene is the funniest scene in the whole movie. I love that scene. And don't worry everybody, there will be lots more Monty Python where that came from.

Chapter 8: Jacko the Smiling Clown's dastardly plan for Indiana Vaughn

  
  


"Don't you find it weird that I have such big hands? And feet?"

Weiss paused before answering. He was treading on some very dangerous ground. "I wouldn't say that they were big, just unusually large."

Sydney lifted her hand up so that she could better look at. "Really? Because they just seem so damn big to me. Freakish even."

"Nah. I wouldn't go that far. They're fine Sydney. Sure you have feet bigger than most men and sure your hands are big enough to fit a man's head in your palm, but really, does any of that matter in the grand scheme of things?"

Sydney didn't seem entirely too convinced by Weiss's words but she shrugged her shoulders all the same. She said reluctantly, "I guess not. You don't think Vaughn will find me repulsive because of my freakishly large extremities?"

Weiss laughed long and hard. "Oh, Sydney. You don't have to worry about that. Trust me when I say that your hands and your feet are the last thing on Vaughn's mind when he looks at you. You're perfect Sydney and that's how Vaughn sees you."

Sydney smiled brightly. She reached across the table and gave Weiss a quick hug. "Thanks Weiss."

Weiss grinned. "No problem Syd." Weiss stopped and then looked around the deli. "Speaking of which, where the hell is Vaughn?"

Sydney shook her head. "I don't know. The last time I saw him he was running for his life after that stupid contract comment he made."

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten about that." Weiss grinned and then laughed. "I know Vaughn and if he thinks you're still mad at him it'll probably be awhile before we see him again."

Sydney frowned. "I can't believe he said that to me. Doesn't he know how much he means to me? How can he only want to kiss me because its something he is forced to do?"

Weiss had no answers. "No idea Syd, but I wouldn't worry. Vaughn likes you. Of that you should never doubt." Weiss then gave her arm a friendly squeeze.

He stood up and said, "I hate to leave you like this Syd but Connie is giving me the wave over and I'm not the one to pass up opportunities. I'm sure everything will be fine between you and Mike."

Sydney smiled faintly up at Weiss and watched him walk away. When Weiss was gone she sighed and lowered her and rested it on the cool plastic table. God, why did her life suck so much?

  
  


Of course, as everyone knows, Sydney did not possess a monopoly on suckiness. Unfortunately, everyone's life sucked. It was just a fact of nature. 

Case in point. Do you think being accosted by three crazed, possibly gay, French-Canadian Quebecers was conducive to spreading good cheer? No, I didn't think so. Unfortunately for Michael Vaughn (He's only Indiana Vaughn when he is in SpyFantasyland. Come on, I have to maintain some semblance of continuity), this was a fact he was learning all to well.

As soon as he had set foot back inside the deli, he had been tackled to the ground and piled upon by a swarm of angry Canadians. And believe me, if you've never been attacked by a swarm of angry Canadians, you've never known true fear. The way they attack you politely and constantly utter the word 'eh' is enough to make even the most ardent Frenchman run in blind cowardice. Fucking Canadians.

The Quebecers soon had Vaughn splayed on his knees, arms held tightly behind his back. Vaughn struggled valiantly but it was too no avail. "What the hell is wrong with you people? Let me go!"

Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau smacked Vaughn upside the head. He yelled, "Shut up you!"

Vaughn did not stop struggling. If anything he struggled more violently and the two Quebecers holding him in place could barely hold on. "You can't do this to me! I'm an officer of the CIA and a damn sexy man. You're totally ruining my image, you know that right? Its like I'm in some twisted S&M gay porn film. Let me go!!!!"

Jean just motioned with his right hand and one of the Quebecers kneed Vaughn in the back. Vaughn groaned and went slack. He was finally under control.

That was when the mastermind behind the whole plan finally made his appearance. Jack pranced up towards the group gaily and rubbed his hands together in unabashed glee. Evilly happy, Jack said, "Ah, now Mr. Vaughn you will learn the consequences for touching my daughter."

Vaughn raised his head and said defiantly, "Do you expect me to apologize?"

Jack grinned, his red mouth clashing against his pale white face garishly. "No Mr. Vaughn, I expect you to die."

Jack motioned with his head and Jean grabbed a chunk of Vaughn's hair painfully. Jean pulled Vaughn's head upright and placed his gun against the back of Vaughn's head. 

"Now if you will allow me to unnecessarily and melodramatically count to three, we can get this over with. 1...2..."

Jack never finished his count as a loud yell came out from somewhere in the deli. To Vaughn's total relief Sydney came running forward. Vaughn briefly flashbacked to his Baywatch viewing years as Sydney came juggling towards him. It was almost enough to make a guy forget that there was a gun poking into his neck. Well, at least he hoped it was a gun...

Sydney yelled angrily, "Dad, what the Hell is going on here!?"

Jack faced Sydney with an innocent, almost childlike look upon his face. "Jacko doesn't know what the nice girl is talking about. Would the pretty girl like a balloon? Perhaps a little pony?"

Sydney swatted Jack out of her way. She gave him a 'look' and then violently attacked the Quebecers holding Vaughn captive. First, she did some kind of gravity defying spin kick that knocked Jean to the ground. Jean moaned and rolled along the ground like some beached whale without the fins, although it was debatable on whether or not he had a blowhole. Next, Sydney launched herself at the Quebecer on Vaughn's right. However, the Quebecer, seeing the imminent danger he was in, embraced his French heritage and took off running.

That just left the man on Vaughn's left. Vaughn promptly took care of him by extending his right leg backward and kicking the Quebecer in the shin. The man howled and let go of Vaughn's arm. He hobbled away from Sydney, Vaughn, and Jack, and collapsed into a booth. 

Vaughn, now free, stood up and glared at Jack. Sydney also glared at Jack and she wrapped a protective arm around Vaughn's waist. Sydney seethed, "What the hell did you think you were doing dad?"

Jack, seeing the fact that the jig was up (By the way, did you know that jig is an actual word? Imagine my surprise when I saw it in my dictionary with not one but two separate definitions. The English language is freaking amazing.), sulkily replied, "He was touching you. In non-handler type ways. What kind of father would I be if I didn't eliminate any and all potential boyfriends?"

Sydney replied sardonically, "I don't know. Maybe one that hasn't COMPLETELY LOST HIS FREAKING MIND!!!"

Sydney calmed down and then quickly added, "And Vaughn is not my boyfriend."

Vaughn turned to Sydney asked somewhat hurt, "I'm not?"

Sydney turned her head to look at Vaughn. "No, and you never will be. At least not until you apologize for that stupid comment you made earlier."

Vaughn groaned in frustration. "Ah, come on! I'm a guy. You can't expect me to say the right thing all the time. It's in our nature to screw up."

Sydney jutted her chin out and said haughtily, "And I'm a woman and its in our nature to withhold the post-fight makeup sex until you apologize."

Vaughn startled and then raised an eyebrow. "Whoa there Syd. Gettin' a little ahead of yourself there aren't you. Who said anything about sex?"

Sydney's eyes grew smoky and she moved closer to Vaughn until she was plastered to his side. She whispered sexily in his ear, "Well if you had continued kissing me like you were earlier, I probably would have ended up ripping off all your clothes and gave you the ride of your life right there in the middle of the deli."

Vaughn's mouth went dry and he suddenly lost all ability to speak. His brain stopped functioning properly; the only thought able to form being: Naked Sydney! Naked Sydney! (And honestly, can you blame the guy? Who hasn't pictured Sydney naked?). That mental picture consumed all of his higher brain functions, not to mention some of his lower ones as well.

Jack, meanwhile, was growing increasingly disgusted by the adolescent behavior being displayed in front of him. He cleared his throat loudly and both Sydney and Vaughn rapidly broke apart, looking embarrassed. 

Jack glared at them. "You two do realize that I'm standing right here don't you?"

Sydney smiled sweetly. "Ah, daddy, I'm sorry but it's so hard to resist him. Especially when he's not wearing a shirt."

Jack growled, "That is the last thing I needed to know."

Both Sydney and Vaughn ignored Jack, they were too busy trying to see who had the more perfect teeth. Don't ask, its not exactly something I want to explain right now. Suffice it to say, from an oral hygiene perspective, they were fah-bulous!

Jack threw his arms up in disgust. "Obviously, you've both gone completely insane. I'm going to find Agent Weiss and tell him that the woman he's been talking to has a little more going for her under the hood than he thinks."

  


Vaughn reluctantly broke away from Sydney lips. He winced at the very disappointed look on her face and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry Syd, but I have to go."

Sydney cried out, "But why? Stay here!" She desperately needed more Vaughn kissage. It was strangely addicting. Not to mention the fact that it is a staple of every fanfic out there to make Vaughn into the God of Sex, Love, and Manliness. Who am I to go against conventional wisdom?

Vaughn shook his head sadly. "I have to Syd. I have a quest to complete. There is a jar of a gooey white substance I must find."

Sydney looked confused. "Wait, I don't understand. I thought the whole point of this quest was to get me to forgive you? I've forgiven you, so you don't have to go." Sydney finished very pleased with herself. 

A look of confusion crossed Vaughn's face as well. "You know what? You're right. Why the hell do I have to continue this stupid quest."

Suddenly a loud booming voice came out of nowhere, "You have to do it because I tell you to damnit. Now get cracking before I turn Jean into your new lover."

Horror crossed both Sydney and Vaughn's face and Vaughn squealed, "Ok! I'll do what you want. Just don't turn me gay!" Vaughn paused and then added as an afterthought, "Not that there's anything wrong with that. I just happen to like interlocking parts, that's all."

The loud booming voice snickered. "Interlocking parts, hehe."

Vaughn rolled his eyes. Under his breath he said, "God, what a fucking moron."

The loud booming voice yelled indignantly, "Hey! I heard that! For that, I'm giving Sydney her shirt back. How do you like them apples?"

Vaughn yelled, "Nooooooo! You bastard!" He fell to his knees and begged, "I'll do it. I'll do it. For the love of all that is holy please don't give her back her shirt."

The loud booming voice contemplated Vaughn's impassioned plea. "Fine. But you know what will happen if you don't do what I say, so move that ass of yours and find yourself some cream."

Vaughn scrambled to his feet and hugged Sydney. "I'm really sorry Syd, but I have to do this. I have to do this for every man out there that has ever wanted to see you without a shirt on. I'm doing this for the people Sydney." Vaughn then leaned down and kissed Sydney briefly on the lips. "For luck."

Then Vaughn turned around, placed his hat on his head, adjusted his whip, and set off through the jungle. Somewhere, there was a giant jar of mayo just waiting to be found. And Indiana Vaughn was just the man to find it. 

  


Back in the deli, Jack saw Vaughn set out into the forest, leaving behind a saddened and dazed Sydney. Jack smiled evilly to himself. Everything was going according to plan. 

  
  
  


Things to look forward to in the next chapter: Vaughn continues his quest to find the Lost Jar of Mayo, Sark the Pimp makes his grand entrance, Jack explains to Weiss that yes, medical science really is that advanced, and Sydney just sits around looking pretty. Oh, and then she kicks some French-Canadian ass.

P.S. The funniest thing happened to me the other day. I was in my PolSci International Relations class and the prof started talking about Quebec and its independence movement. God, I literally almost fell out of my seat laughing. I don't really know why, but it was just so funny that we were talking about something so seriously when all I do is make fun of the whole thing in this story. Which wasn't a good thing. When you're talking about Iraq, North Korea, and the imminence of war, and a guy starts cracking up at the mention of just the word Quebec, I'm sure it makes you really start to question the sanity of the human race. I guess you just had to be there.


	9. The British are coming! The British are...

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


Dedication: To Angela and Jada. I have no words to adequately describe my feelings towards you.

  


A/N: It should be well known by everyone reading that in no way does this chapter mean that I have switched sides. I seriously wondered about myself for a few seconds though. I mean honestly, writing about another man in leather pants is something I really shouldn't, and don't by the way, enjoy. But it does tend to make someone wonder. God Edele, you damn well better appreciate this because I may not do this again. I am seriously in need of a JG in black lingerie fix right now. Thank god I downloaded "Phase One". I just love that scene with Jen and the whip. Talk about drool worthy action. Ok, I feel much better now.

Oh, and let me say that the number of girls out there who are so willing to express their lusty feelings for Jen makes my hormonal heart all aflutter. I thought I was the only one who appreciated Jen for the hottie that she is, but it's nice to know I'm not the only one. Please, girls, continue on with your thoughts. Except, more detail please. A lot more detail.

And I just wanted to say hi to all the new people out there. As you can see from my work, I like to include my readers in the whole fanfic writing experience. We're like one big, horny, unnaturally high group. Welcome!!

Laura, I agree with you about Spaceballs not being the funniest movie ever. It's one of my favorites but it is not the funniest movie I've ever seen. Many of the movies you listed are classics and deserve to be on any all time list.

  
  


Chapter 9: The British are coming! The British are coming!

  
  


"So, what you're telling me is that she's a man?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You couldn't tell?"

"Um...not really. I mean she's kind of built and her voice is kind of deep but no man has an ass that nice. And trust me on this, I happen to be an ass connoisseur."

"If that's true then you've been looking at the wrong asses."

"Hey! What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm just saying."

"Why am I suddenly flashbacking to Ace Ventura?"

"I don't know. I think its more a 'Crying Game' type situation than an Ace Ventura situation. Although, I very well could be wrong about the whole thing."

"God, I hope so. The guys at work would never let me live this down if they ever found out. It would totally ruin my reputation."

"You have a reputation?"

"Yes, I have a reputation. I've certainly seen more action than my pathetic, pussy whipped best friend. I swear to God, if that boy don't get laid soon I'm going to go insane."

"I certainly hope not. I don't want him going anywhere near my daughter. Besides, doesn't he have a girlfriend?"

"That's funny, Jack. The only girlfriend Mike has is Lefty and Lefty's five friends."

"That's disgusting and more information than I wanted to know."

"Yeah, well, whatever. Thanks for the heads up, Jack. I think I'm going to go find out right now for sure. If Connie does turn out to be a man I think I might just shoot myself."

"One can only hope. Anyway, good luck on your endeavor. I'm going to go find myself a nice dark corner where I will continue to plan Agent Vaughn's untimely demise. Toodles."

And so ends my attempt at nothing but dialogue. God, do I suck at this shit or what? I think its time I got back to real storytelling. Hence, Sark the Pimp. Because nothing says legitimate storytelling like pimps, ho's, and gratuitous nudity (Actually the nudity is a lie, I just thought the word gratuitous would get your attention.).

  
  


The two old, rusting, metal doors opened outward with a grand flourish. Everyone in Mr. Fan's Deli automatically turned their heads to see what was going on. To their surprise, four people calmly walked into the store. Three of the people were very beautiful women. A redhead, a blonde, and a brunette. One of every flavor...The fourth person that stepped through the old doors was the last person anybody in the deli was expecting.

Eyes settled on the unnaturally good looking man (Speaking of which, the Hell? How does one get genes like those? You think that if I had my own Project Helix I could somehow superimpose his genes over mine? This is just one of many thoughts going through my head right now. Another being whether or not those bags of cheetos I saw the other day are still on sale.) and moved up and down his body.

He wore a purple and velvet fedora; the hat resting snugly on his head. Moving down his body, one could see a large, puffy, fur coat. The coat was white and liberally painted with blackish gold spots. The coat opened on his naked torso; the light from Mr. Fan's Deli glistening off his chiseled chest. Several gold necklaces were draped around his neck, including a large dollar symbol, and they added an illuminated quality to his presence. 

The people in the deli continued looking over the fine specimen of non-British manmeat. By now, they had reached his lower torso. He was wearing black leather pants that were so tight they left little to the imagination. And I'm sure you girls have fantastic imaginations (that means you Edele!). One of the man's hands was resting on the crown of a long black cane. The cane was crowned by a solid gold ball that seemed to glow in the dim light of the deli.

The man struck out with his cane in front of him and sauntered towards the three slackjawed Quebecers. His three female companions scurried after him, fighting amongst each other as they jockeyed for position on his arms. In the end, the brunette hung off his right arm and the redhead off his left. The blonde was left behind, sullenly damning her fellow coworkers for beating her to the punch. She wanted to be an end of a Sark the Pimp sandwich!

Meanwhile, Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau was not pleased. Once again, someone was interrupting his plans. It was as if nobody took him and his fellow freedom fighters seriously. For the life of him, he could not figure out why that was. Perhaps it was because he was too nice a guy. Or maybe it was because he was French-Canadian, and really, has anyone ever taken those guys seriously? 

He had to put a stop to this flaunting of his power. It just wasn't right. He was the head Quebecer damnit! If he couldn't put this newcomer in his place, then it would just prove that a blind monkey that eats his own shit had more power than he (wow, that picture just reminded me of this ABC exec I saw the other day...). Everyone in the deli would realize the truth. Jean was nothing more than an annoying, impotent, moose loving Quebecer. He didn't want that.

Jean brought his rifle to his shoulder and aimed it at the strange blonde man with the crooked lip; his two companions did the same. He yelled out in an authoritative voice, "Stop right there! Who the hell are you, eh?"

The man responded calmly with a tip of his hat. He then brought his cane forward and rested both hands on it and stared at Jean with his icy blue eyes. "The name's Sark. You can call me Mr. Sark." Sark paused and then said in a contemplative tone, "I'd tell you to call me by my first name, but since it seems I don't have one, you will address me by my proper title."

Sark then added grandiosely, "For I am Sark the Pimp, and you my friend, are now my bitch. Lay down your weapons."

Jean did nothing of the sort. He merely glared. "You're British, aren't you?"

"What's it to you?"

Jean growled in his attempt at a menacing tone. "It is because of you British that Quebec is a subjugated land. If not for your defeat of the motherland, we Quebecers would be free!"

Sark just shrugged his shoulders, "Sod off. Don't bother me with your petty problems. I am a superior intellect and I could care less about you. Unless you have recently come into a large supply of cash recently and are looking to hire a ruthless but loyal lackey. Have you?"

Jean laughed. "I'm from Quebec, what do you think?"

Sark's face fell. He said sadly, "But I need somebody to tell me what to do!! I'm too used to driving cars! I've never had to actually do anything on my own before..."

Sydney, meanwhile, was still recovering from being ripped away from the love of her life. The lingering feel of Vaughn's lips on hers still left her dazed and disoriented. It wasn't until her arch-nemesis walked into the deli that she was able to shake off the affect of Vaughn's departure. I say arch-nemesis because everybody knows that every super hero needs an ultimate foe. Sark was as close as anybody would ever come to matching the Spy Barbie's amazing powers of strutting, primping, and posing. Formidable powers indeed.

Sydney watched the confrontation between the Quebecers and Sark play out in front of her. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing out loud at the ridiculousness of the situation. Jean, as usual, was powerless to stop any of the goings on in the deli from going on, and Sark, well Sark was being Sark. Although, the last time they met she didn't remember him being so pimptastic.

And what was with those women fawning all over him? It wasn't like he was all that hot or anything. Well, maybe that wasn't entirely true. He did have a certain unorthodox appeal to him. But it was one Sydney had no problem ignoring. Besides, she had Vaughn. Vaughn, that sexy piece of French pastry. Tasty on the outside, but incredibly creamy in the middle.

Suddenly, a loud bang went off and Sydney was shocked out of her thoughts. She looked up in alarm just in time to see one of Sark's ho's...uh...I mean "friends" fall to the ground. It was the blonde and she was bleeding profusely from a gunshot wound in her chest. Sydney could not believe that Jean had just shot the woman.

Sydney flew towards the three Quebecers and tore into them like an avenging whirlwind of destruction. Sark, looking to exact revenge on Jean and his band of "merry" men for killing one of his money makers, attacked the head Quebecer with his cane. 

While Sydney was taking care of Jean's lackeys, Sark was handling Jean himself. With a harsh swing of his cane, Sark knocked Jean's rifle out of his hands. Jean squealed in pain and brought the fingers of his injured hand up to his mouth and sucked on his fingers sullenly. Sark merely looked at the man disparagingly and jabbed out with his crane. The crown of the cane impacted violently against Jean's stomach and Jean exhaled loudly.

Jean collapsed to his knees and Sark looked up to check on Sydney's progress. One of the nameless Quebecers was already writhing on the ground in pain. The other Quebecer was putting up a surprisingly good fight. An errant punch clipped Sydney on the shoulder and she spun 45 degrees to her left. Sydney retaliated with a backhanded fist to the man's face, knocking him to the ground. Sydney then kicked out viciously and nailed the Quebecer squarely in the face. He quickly succumbed to unconscious. 

Sark used the crown of his cane to lift Jean's head until Jean could look him in the eye. Sark seethed, "Bitch! Whaz the fuck do ya think yuz whaz doing? Huh? Did I not tell you that you were now my bitch? Stand your punk ass up!"

Jean struggled to his feet and glared defiantly at Sark. Sark angrily struck out, bitch slapping Jean across the face. Jean's head lolled to his side and he collapsed to his knees. A man can only take so much punishment.

Sark glared in disgust and the pathetic man resting on his knees in front of him, and turned to face Sydney. Sark tipped his hat at her, "I thank you for saving my nizzle. This fool cost me a good employee, fo sure." 

Sark paused and got a contemplative look on his face and looked Sydney up and down appreciatively. It was then that Sydney realized she was still only wearing a bra and leather pants. She suddenly became self conscious and blushed profusely at Sark's gaze. "You know, Sydney, you would make an excellent addition to my harem of hunnies. You interested in tasting my pimp juice?"

Syd glared at Sark (there seems to be an awfully lot of glaring going on. Perhaps I should come up with something new...) and said angrily, "Why you cocky, little, bastard! Not even if you paid me millions of dollars would I join you! I'll never join you!."

Sark raised an eyebrow. "First off, it's not my fault I'm full of cock...um...I mean cockiness. Second, I ain't little and if you give me the opportunity, I'd prove it to you! Thirdly, you'd be worth ever piece of bling bling I got to get a taste of yo flavor." Sark then grinned lasciviously. 

Sydney groaned in disgust, turned around, and strutted away. Sark's eyes were glued to her swaying ass the whole way. Hmmm, he thought, he was going to have to come up with some truly masterful plans if he was ever going to get Sydney to work for him. He was going to have to become the master of his domain.

With a disdainful look at Jean, Sark said scornfully, "Get up bitch. It's time we heazy fesheazy over to my booth. We must discuss how you're going to repay me for killing one of my girls."

  
  


Indiana Vaughn stared in awe at the gleaming jar of white sitting on the stone pillar in front of him. He brought his right hand up to wipe the sweat off his brow as he used his left to part the cobwebs. He was so close! The Lost Jar of Mayo was right there! It was just within his grasp.

Vaughn moved carefully forward, watching his footsteps as he maneuvered across the temple floor to the pedestal. He had to make sure he stepped on the right stones. A wrong step might mean death, and Vaughn was too pretty to die. Besides, he hadn't made any SpyChillin yet with the super sexy Sydney Bristow. Who wants to die before having sex with the woman you love? During, well, that's another matter entirely. What a way to go!

Anyway, Vaughn was so close. He could practically taste the creamy goodness that jar in front of him contained. Just a couple of steps more. Right foot forward, left foot to the side, right foot forward again, left foot to the side again, right foot forward, left foot to... And so on and so on. 

Is this scene really necessary? I mean really, is it? Wouldn't you get the same idea if I just showed him standing in front of the pedestal with his shirt undone and sweat dripping down his chest. I mean, wouldn't you? I know I would. Perhaps I'll put the man in a nice pair of stilettos and have him go prancing around the temple chamber. Perhaps not.

Vaughn tentatively reached out his hand and reverently stroked the jar. He was one step closer to the Jewel of Sydney and the Temple of Horniness (To stem confusion, Vaughn is currently in the Temple of Lost Jars and Not Quite as Horny Secret Agents. Hope that clears things up.). He would just grab the Lost Jar of Mayo, take it to the Secret Agents who say Ni, and then be on the path to paradise.

Vaughn pulled the replacement jar of pickles (Mmmmm, pickles) out of the bag at his side with his right hand and firmly grasped the top of the jar on the pedestal with his left. He would have to make the exchange quickly. One second of delay could mean certain death. As opposed to uncertain death, which seems to happen quite frequently on this show...er um....I mean story. Yeah, story. 

Vaughn took a deep breath and then calmed his nerves as best he could. With a swift movement of both hands, Vaughn replaced the Lost Jar of Mayo with the Generic Jar of Pickles and breathed a huge sigh of relief when nothing happened. He placed the precious jar into his bag and straightened up. He took a step back and took his hat off his head to run a hand through his hair. He had done it! The Jewel of Sydney would be his for sure now.

Vaughn turned around to make his way out of the temple, when to his utter surprise he came face to face with a man dressed in a tuxedo and holding a really small gun. With the surprise evident in his voice, Vaughn asked, "Who the hell are you?"

In an overly exaggerated British accent, the man replied, "My name is Flinkman. Marshall Flinkman. And I believe you have something I need, Mr. Vaughn."

  
  


Things to look forward to in the next chapter: Vaughn and Marshall have a bit of a tussle, Sark the Pimp tries to put the moves on Sydney, Jack continues planning his attempt on Vaughn's life, and Sark and Vaughn have the most ambiguously gay KY wrestling match in history. 

  
  


P.S. I blame any and all Sark inspirations on the song "Pimp Juice" by Nelly. I listened to the song and I just knew I had to write Sark the Pimp. Sark the Pimp is a work in process. I hope to get much better at writing him as the story moves along, but it always takes me a few chapters to get the feel for my characters. As it is now, I already have to many. I hope you like my version of Sark and I hope that I didn't offend any Sark fans out there. Actually, that's not true. I could care less about offending anybody. I think I will make Sark into an evil pimp in the next chapter. After all, he is evil on the show. I think that's a great idea. A pimp with dreams for world domination. Every country would go Dutch! Amsterdam here we come.


	10. Rockin' Vibrations

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


Author's Note: There were some things that I had promised would be included in this chapter, but unfortunately, these were not meant to be. The muse refused to help me think of a way to do this chapter any other way but this one. However, those events will still come about. I hope to have the big fight scene between Vaughn and Sark included in Chapter 11. I thank you all for your patience. Hopefully, the wait will not be as long for the next chapter.

  


Dedication: To the girls: Vicky, Jo, Jeanne, Cat, Jess, Lil, and Becks. All of you provide the fuel to this insanity. Oh, and to everyone in the SVR Enforcers; the only people on this planet who may be more insane than I am.

  
  


Chapter 10: Rockin' Vibrations

  
  


Vaughn turned around to make his way out of the temple, when to his utter surprise he came face to face with a man dressed in a tuxedo and holding a really small gun. With the surprise evident in his voice, Vaughn asked, "Who the hell are you?"

In an overly exaggerated British accent, the man replied, "My name is Flinkman. Marshall Flinkman. And I believe you have something I need, Mr. Vaughn."

Vaughn stared hard at the shorter man and grasped his bag tightly in his hands. He gritted out between his teeth, "I don't think so. Do you have any idea of the lengths I had to go to get this thing? Do you?"

Marshall replied cooly, "No, I don't, and frankly I don't care. Hand the jar over to me now, Mr. Vaughn. Or I will take it from you."

Vaughn straightened up abruptly and smiled wide at the serious man in front of him. He started moving closer to Marshall and said in a friendly tone, "Hey, look, I'm a man, you're a man, we're both men." Vaughn cautiously approached Marshall and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Vaughn looked down at the top of Marshall's square head and said conversationally, "And since we're both men, we should be able to settle this disagreement in an orderly and non-violent matter. Like men. Don't you agree?"

Marshall's cool demeanor cracked slightly and he began to warm up to Vaughn's friendly tone. He shrugged his shoulders and said, "I suppose. What do you suggest?"

Vaughn started moving towards the pedestal that had just a few minutes ago contained the Lost Jar of Mayo. He dragged Marshall along with him. "Well, I'm sure we could work out some kind of arrangement. I could get the jar on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. You could get the jar Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. And we could alternate Sundays. That way we both get to experience the potent powers of the mayo. How does that sound?"

Marshall nodded his head and said contemplatively, "It has potential. But I was kinda hoping to keep it for myself. You see I have this great quest that I must complete, and I need the Lost Jar of Mayo to do so."

Vaughn stiffened slightly at the mention of the word quest. Hesitantly he asked, "Quest? Not the quest for the Temple of Horniness?"

Marshall shook his head in the negative. "Oh no. Quite the opposite actually. I must complete this quest in order to safely secure the Potion of Useless Ramblings."

Vaughn was confused, "Potion of Useless Ramblings? What the hell is that?"

"Oh it's quite fascinating actually. You see, the potion gives whoever drinks it the ability to speak endlessly on completely random and inane topics. I have been searching for this potion all my life. It is the Holy Grail of geeky tech guys everywhere. Once I possess it, I will be able to declare my dominion over geeks everywhere and become their king."

Vaughn stared at the diminutive man in awe. He had said that entire speech in one breath. Amazing. Vaughn commented, "If you ask me, you seem to already be skilled in the art of Ramblings."

Marshall smiled at what he perceived to be a compliment. "Oh thank you! I have been practicing. It is my belief that with my naturally occurring abilities, the potion will augment them just enough to give me the edge I need."

Vaughn nodded his head dumbly and said, "Oh."

"So, you see our predicament? I really must have that jar."

Vaughn moved away from Marshall warily. "And I need the jar as well." Vaughn paused and then said contemplatively, "How are we going to solve this impasse?"

  
  


"Aw, come on, Sydney! How much bling bling is it gonna take for you to come work for me? I'll give you whatever you ask for! I've got bling bling up the hizzle."

Sydney yelled angrily, "No, Sark! Get it through that head of yours that I'm not interested!"

Sark was in denial. "You don't really mean that. I just haven't offered the right incentive yet. Everybody succumbs to my pimptasticness sooner or later. You're no different."

Sydney groaned and threw her hands up into the air in disgust. She began to walk away, but Sark stopped her with his cane. Sydney slowly turned her head to fix Sark with a heated glare and Sark merely grinned in response. Sydney growled out, "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Sark's face brightened and he said enthusiastically, "I've got it! I know exactly what to offer you." And then Sark began to divulge his offer.

  
  


"You're not pumping it right!"

"What do you mean I'm not pumping it right? The caulk looks perfectly fine."

"No, you don't understand proper pumping technique. You have to move your hand in smooth strokes. Like this..."

"Ah! I see. I've never seen it shoot out like that before."

"Of course not. That's because you've never pumped the gun the right way. It also helps if you add a little twist at the end. Helps the release."

"You mean like this?" 

"Yeah! That's perfect. Feels good doesn't it? Knowing you did a good job."

"No kidding. I had no idea something like this could be so entertaining."

"Not many people do. Caulking is an art form, and one has to be a master caulker before one can truly understand the power of caulk."

"I'm just worried I'll get the caulk all over my stuff. The caulk gets all over your hands, and your clothes, and all sorts of other stuff. Then it leaves a white stain."

"Give it time. Pretty soon, you won't even bat an eye when you whip out the gun and start pumping."

"I hope so."

"Just remember, that this whole area has to be sealed and ready for the big fight scene at the end of the next chapter, so you need to speed up a bit. I'll go find someone else to help you man the caulk."

Nameless Quebecer #1 patted Nameless Quebecer #2 on the back and left him to his work, searching for another caulker. It would take a while before all those tiles were in place and his fellow Quebecer could use the help. Meanwhile, Nameless Quebecer #2 resumed his pumping of his gun, releasing caulk all over the floor.

  
  


"Ugh!" Sydney grunted in pleasure. She moaned, "Oh! Oh! Oh god yes! More! Give me more, Sark! I need more! Uggggggghhhh!"

Sark was breathless, "Hold on, I'm almost there. Just a little bit more....there!" Sark grunted and let out a violent explosion of air.

Sark slumped and leaned against the edge of the counter, while Sydney tried to recover from the intense pleasure she had just received. Sydney turned her head to face Sark and said, "Oh my god, Sark, that was the best chocolate cake I have ever eaten! Where did you learn to cook like that?"

Sark held up a hand, giving Sydney pause, as he recovered his breath. It wasn't easy making two whole cakes in only a few minutes. The man needed to rest and recuperate. Sark finally began to answer Sydney's question between gasping breaths, "Before...I became...an internationally...known pimp, I went...to culninary school in...Paris."

Sydney asked around the huge mouthful of chocolate cake in her mouth, "Really? I had no idea." Sydney then swallowed and took another huge sporkful out of the cake Sark had just only moments ago set before her. The cake was still almost oven hot.

Sark nodded his head in understanding and said, "That's understandable. Most people only see the fur coat, the cane, and the bling bling and refuse to see me as a person. They only judge me by what they see on the outside. I'm really just totally mizunderstood."

Sydney bobbed her head in agreement. She said apologetically, "I'm sorry that I was one of those people, Sark." Sydney then put her spork down and walked up to pull Sark into a hug.

Sark for his part, started to sniffle and cry. He wailed into Sydney's shoulder, "I just want people to like me, that's all! Why won't they love me? Why!?!?!?!"

Sydney patted Sark on the back and rubbed smooth, comforting circles into his back. She cooed into his ear, "It's okay, Sark, let it all out. I'm here for you."

Sark, meanwhile, had reduced his wail down to a small whimper. Unbeknownst to Sydney, Sark's hands were slowly sliding down her back, slowly inching down to her leather clad ass. Sydney was so concerned with comforting Sark, that she never realized what Sark was doing until it was too late. All she could do was shriek in sudden surprise.

  
  


"Paper! I win!" Vaughn shouted triumphantly.

Marshall stared at his closed fist in confusion and then looked up at Vaughn's glowering face. "Hold on a minute! How...how...does paper beat rock? It's a rock!!!"

Vaughn's excited expression changed to a frown and he sighed, "Do I have to explain the rules to you again? We've already been over this. Extensively." 

Marshall shook his head. He said, "No, I understand the rules, but who made these rules up anyway? They're preposterous!" Marshall paused and then contemplated, "You know what this game needs? Some dice! Yeah! Some 12 sided dice, and playing cards! We could even get a nice board, with figurines, and...and...and I could be a dwarf! What do you think?"

Vaughn's face was aghast in unmitigated horror. He stuttered, "Y-y-you're s-s-serious, aren't...you?

Marshall smiled brightly. "Of course I am! Ooooo, and you could be a fairy!"

Vaughn squealed (coincendentally, like a fairy squeals) and shouted emphatically, "Nooooooo!"

Marshall frowned, "No? But why not?"

"Cause I don't wanna be a fairy," Vaughn whined. He then said a bit more enthusiastically, "I wanna be a dragonslayer! Yeah, a dragonslayer! They get all the chicks."

"Hmmm...maybe. But, there is still the matter of who gets the jar. I say that game was unfair."

Vaughn muttered, "Can't believe he's never played rock-paper-scissors before. For the love of Mike!" He then realized that Marshall was staring at him and said, "Well, ummm..." He looked around the temple chamber and then back at Marshall and then down to the bag hanging off his chest. He then looked back up to Marshall and said, "Umm...umm...yoink!"

Vaughn then pushed Marshall, who he had subtley moved ever closer to the pedestal that had formerly held the Lost Jar of Mayo, into the large stone pedestal, knocking the Generic Jar of Pickles off the pedestal and onto the ground (was that sentence as confusing for you to read as it was for me to write?). Vaughn quickly spun around and began to run towards the entrance of the chamber, the whole temple shaking and rumbling as he did so.

Vaughn reached the stone floor and just ran through, dodging the whizzing sporks as they flew out of their holes in the chamber walls. It was very Matrixesque if I do say so myself. Finally, Vaughn reached the end of the stone chamber floor and ran out of the chamber itself. He breezed through the cobwebs and creepy crawling things all along the path to freedom. That is, until he heard a rumbling from up above. It almost sounded like a giant boulder was rushing towards him...

Vaughn stopped running and looked up incredulously. He shouted, "Oh for crying out loud! Can we please make this sequence even more cliched?"

A booming voice answered from the hole in the ceiling that Vaughn was looking into. His voice echoed down, "Of course! Hold on, give me a minute." There were some sounds of metal clanging against metal, a subdued curse word here and there, and then finally, loud music, very similar to the Indiana Jones theme, began to play.

Vaughn grinned wide and yelled up into the hole, "Thanks!" He then straightened the brim of his hat and grasped his whip tightly as he continued running out of the still collapsing temple.

Vaughn came to a giant hole in the floor, and not breaking his stride, swung out with the whip and wrapped it on a beam on the other side of the hole. He jumped across the chasm and swung across, landing firmly on the other side. He unfurled his whip from the beam and turned around to watch the giant stone boulder that had been chasing him fall into the large hole he had just swung across. I tell you, that Vaughn was one hell of a swinger.

Vaughn let out a half-snort of interested amusement and spun on his heel away from the hole. He walked the remaining distance to the exit and finally stepped outside the almost completely demolished Temple of Lost Jars and Not Quite as Horny Secret Agents. Vaughn just shook his head and began to walk down the path that led back to the Secret Agents who say Ni!.

Vaughn had walked about 20 feet down the path when he suddenly started. Standing, leaning against a large tree, with his tuxedo jacket hanging off one shoulder, was Marshall Flinkman. Vaughn froze and his jaw dropped in awe. He began making wild hand gestures, pointing to Marshall and the direction he had just come from. Vaughn gasped, "What the? Huh? How the...?" Vaughn paused and gathered his wits about him and continued more calmly, "How the hell did you make it out of there?"

Marshall just shrugged his shoulders and said simply, "I walked out the door."

Vaughn asked confused, "Door? What door? There was no door!"

"Sure there was. Near the back, with a sign with large green letters that said 'EXIT' above it. You didn't see it?"

Vaughn shook his head dumbly and tried to wrap his mind around what Marshall was saying. "But why would there be a door there? Unless..." Vaughn shook his head, refusing to believe what he was thinking. "Nah. Couldn't be. Could it?" 

Marshall only uttered one word, "Yep." Sudden fear overcame Vaughn and his face paled. 

Vaughn was panicking, "I didn't know what it was! How was I supposed to know what was going to happen? I didn't know the whole place would be destroyed!"

Marshall walked up to Vaughn and patted him on the back. "There, there. I know you didn't mean to, but dude, Eisner is so going to have your ass for destroying his favorite ride."


	11. May the Pimp be with you

Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias. 

  


Dedication: To the girls: Vicky, Jo, Jeanne, Cat, Lil, and Becks. All of you provide the fuel to this insanity. Thanks to Jen, for helping me with the acronym, and to Duck, whose extracurricular activities are always inspiring. And a special thanks to Bella, because, well I'm the author and I can thank her if I want to. You inspire greatness in all its many forms. 

Last, but certainly not least, I dedicate this chapter to everyone who voted for this story. Thank you all! It is because of you that this story won first place in the Festival of Fic. I did nothing but put to words my own insanity. You made this story into something more. Thank you! 

  
  


Chapter 11: May the Pimp be with you!

  
  


"Hey, man, cheer up. If it makes you feel any better, I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a girl whose second cousin thrice removed cleans Eisner's pool. I think if I pull a few strings, I might be able to get this guy to put in a good word for you."

Vaughn looked down at the diminutive man walking alongside him and stared at him flabbergasted. He said harshly, "The pool guy? The fucking pool guy!? Can you possibly explain to me how the pool guy is going to save me from the Devil himself?"

Marshall glared at the poufter next to him and said, "The relationship between a man and his pool guy is a sacred bond and not to be taken lightly. I have it on good authority that Eisner and his pool guy talk on many important subjects."

Indiana Vaughn looked at the secret agent incredulously, "Like what?"

Marshall Flinkman, secret agent extraordinaire, continued glaring at Vaughn. He stuttered, "Like...like...like talking stocks and Eisner's portfolio. Oooo, and I hear that that new Terminator movie was the pool guy's idea."

Vaughn took his hat off his head with his left hand and swiped his right forearm against his forehead, dislodging all the sweat the brim of his hat had collected. He turned his head to Marshall and said, "But Terminator isn't even a Disney film."

That gave Marshall pause and he stopped mid-stride. "Oh, right. Well, I heard it was some big summer blockbuster movie." He shrugged his shoulders and resumed his stride. "You can't expect me to know everything, you know," he said reprovingly.

Vaughn glared at Marshall briefly, and asked petulantly, "Well, why the hell not?"

Marshall sighed and grounded out, "Because I'm a secret agent, damnit! I'm not an encyclopedia. I know how to kill and sew, that's it."

Vaughn exclaimed, "But aren't you the gadget guy?! The guy who makes all the cool stuff?"

Marshall shook his head in the negative. "No, no, you have me mistaken with Marshall Flinkman. I'm Marshall _Flink_-man."

Vaughn scratched his head in confusion and asked, "Aren't they the same thing?"

Marshall again shook his head no. "No, you see, the one you're thinking of says his name with no emphasis or inflection, while my name has the inflection on the Flink. So, my name is pronounced _Flink-_man."

Vaughn nodded his head and said, "Ah, I see." Which of course he really didn't, but he figured things would be better for him if he just nodded his head dumbly and pretended he knew what he was talking about. After all, he certainly hadn't made it to Senior Analyst by his looks.

Now that the subject of Marshall's name had been settled, a hushed silence fell upon the men as they continued walking down the jungle path.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into more minutes, minutes turned into even more minutes, and eventually five minutes passed. Marshall, tired of the silence that was ruining the chance for quality male bonding finally piped up and said conversationally, "So, American League or National League?"

  
  


The blonde pulled the slab of deli meet off of Sark's right eye and glared at the unnaturally attractive woman sitting in a booth no more than six feet away. The woman didn't even flinch under the blonde's glare, and instead, merely looked down at her nails in total indifference. The blonde grew angry at the brunette's indifference and yelled, "Did you have to hit him in the face?!"

The brunette merely nodded her head and kept studying her nails. The blonde wailed, "But his face! His beautiful, flawless face! You bitch!"

That finally got a reaction out of the brunette. She turned her head up and locked a heated gaze on the whining blonde. The blonde immediately shirked back and lowered her head in supplication. There was only one Alpha-female in this deli and her name was Sydney Bristow. She wasn't gonna let some blonde Ho talk to her like that.

Sydney slowly slid across the cheap vinyl of the booth and fully extended her long, shapely, perfectly formed legs... Ummmm...right, back to the story. Sydney stood up to her full height and stalked over towards Sark the Pimp and the blonde woman waiting on him. She cocked her head to the side and stared down the simpering blonde, who turned tail and ran away, leaving Sark to Syd's whims. (Hmmm...I'm starting to sense a general pattern in diction and mannerisms... Dear God! What the hell did I just say!? Ack!)

Sark faced Sydney with an unapologetic glare. Sydney, seeing the defiance on Sark's damaged face, snorted and said contemptuously, "Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Sark just shrugged his shoulders and said, "What? Hello, I'm a pimp. I would think this kind of thing would have been expected. Besides, your ass just looked soooooo good in those leather pants, I couldn't help myself." He paused and then said thoughtfully, "When you think about it, I'm really just a product of my environment. If you had grown up apprenticing under all the finest pimps money could buy, you would understand."

Confused, Sydney asked, "I thought you went to culinary school in Paris before you became a pimp?"

Sark, who had been busy flicking lint off his expensive fur coat, paused what he was doing and looked up at Sydney with a hesitant look on his face. "Ummm...yeah, about that... You see, I may have kind of lied just a little about that."

Sydney's face darkened and she glared at Sark. With clenched teeth she gritted out, "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Sark swallowed audibly and his voice cracked when he spoke, "Yeah, I never really went to culinary school. I was only there long enough to learn a few basic things. How to cook macaroni and cheese, boil water, how to properly butter a slice of bread, and how to properly eat a slab of salami."

Sydney's mouth dropped open in shock and she sputtered, "But...but...the cake! How did you make that cake if you never had any lessons?"

A sad little smile formed across Sark's face and he said fondly, "My former master, Marconi-Wan Dixoni, taught me. He always said that a man who could bake an excellent cake, was a man who would never grow hungry. And he wasn't talking about eating food." Sark then winked at Syd and she blushed. Sark chuckled and then continued his story, "In fact, he was the man who gave me this cane." Sark lifted up the finely crafted cane and said as both he and Sydney looked it over, "He told me it belonged to my father. I didn't believe him at first; I had always been told my father was just a simple business man. But after my uncle and his life partner were murdered by the Brotherhood of Independent Thieves, Con-men, Hit man, Extortionists, and Scoundrels, otherwise known as the BITCHES, I had no choice but to fall under Master Dixoni's care. Once there, he trained me in the ways of the Pimp, just like my father before me."

Sydney suddenly felt a swell of pity and sympathy well up inside of her. Gently, she asked, "What happened to your father, Sark?"

Sark eyes darkened and he said quietly, "I don't know exactly. Master Dixoni would only tell me that one of his former students betrayed and murdered my father. Ever since then, I've been learning the ways of the Pimp. Hoping that I could one day find the man who murdered my father and give him the beat down he deserves."

Sydney, still wary of Sark after the last time she got close to him, hesitantly patted his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry about your father, Sark. I..." Sydney hesitated slightly before continuing, "...wish there was something I could do. Something that doesn't involve me being one of your Ho's."

Sark's face at lit up at the mention of Sydney's offer, but it had quickly dimmed when she finished. "But I'll pay you good money! More than you could ever dream of making in any other job."

Sydney straightened up and took a step away from the sitting Sark. Firmly, she said, "No."

Sark pleaded, "Come on, please?!"

Sydney shook her head and said derisively, "No, Sark, I will not be one of your Ho's. I'm sorry."

Sark stood up dejectedly and leaned on his cane. "No, no, that's okay. I should respect your wishes. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea about pimps. It's just..." Sark's hand snaked down his body until it slipped inside a pocket on his fur coat. He continued talking the whole time, his voice suddenly becoming cool and sophisticated, "...with you by my side, I could easily crush the BITCHES and take over their empire."

Sark's voice became almost hypnotic and Sydney found herself becoming more open to what Sark was saying. "We could usher in a new era of peace and prosperity amongst all the pimps of the world."

Sark's hand stilled inside of his coat for a few brief seconds, and then slowly started to pull his arm back. He pulled out of his pocket a brilliant gold necklace, that shined brightly in the dim light of the deli. It almost had a kind of unnatural glow. At the end of the necklace, hung a large, gold and diamond encrusted, P.

Sydney, so enamored with the oddly hypnotic quality of Sark's voice, never noticed him slipping the necklace over his head. The P of the necklace settled against all the other bling bling that was weighing his neck down, and a golden sheen surrounded his rugged torso. Sark's next words came smoothly out of his mouth, "I think you've changed your mind about working for me." Sydney repeated back the words. Sark continued, "In fact, you want to be my Ho." Again, Sydney repeated the words and again Sark droned on, "You will work for me and only me and you will be my love slave." Sydney repeated Sark's words for the third time and Sark ended with, "May the Pimp be with you."

  
  


"Seriously? The Mets?"

"Yeah, the Mets. What's wrong with the Mets? They're my favorite team."

Marshall shook his head and said, "Oh, there's nothing wrong with them, unless you count totally sucking as something the matter."

Vaughn let out a cry of outrage, "Hey! They do not suck! They were just in the Series a couple of years ago."

Marshall barked out a laugh, "Yeah, where they got their asses kicked by the Yankees. In what, five games?"

Vaughn said defensively, "So? At least they made it that far. That's more than can be said for all the other teams."

Marshall had to concede that point, "I'll give you that much at least. But honestly, they're the _Mets_!"

Vaughn turned his head to glare at Marshall as he crossed the line that delineated the deli from the unyielding jungle from whence they came. He growled, "Just stop. I don't give you grief about being a Red Sox fan."

Marshall glared back at Vaughn and said scathingly, "That's because there's nothing to give me grief about. The Sox are going all the way this year. Nomar is the man and Pedro is a god."

Vaughn mumbled under his breath, "Riiiiight. That's what you Sox fans say every year."

Vaughn turned away from Marshall and walked further into the deli. Marshall, meanwhile, yelled indignantly, "I heard that!"

Vaughn was about to retort with a haughty remark when his eyes settled on the sight before him and he froze stiffly in shock. Sitting on a chair was the man known simply as Sark. That would have been strange enough under normal circumstances, as Sark was an internationally wanted criminal, but his manner of dress (Vaughn thought it looked oddly pimptastic) and the three beautiful women standing behind his chair cooing and fawning over him, would have given any man pause. But it was the woman sitting on Sark's lap and idly stroking his naked chest that caused Vaughn to stare in open mouthed shock. 

With confusion readily apparent on his symmetrical face, he questioned haltingly, "S-Syd...ney?"

The woman in question managed to tear her eyes away from staring into Sark the Pimp's blue orbs and fixed her gaze on her former handler/partner/friend/potential love interest/confident/pussy-whipped boyfriend (At least that's what he'll be in the future, and I am nothing if not prescient.)/etc... (God, he has a lot of titles.) Anyways, Sydney said, in a slightly off kilter tone, "My name is no longer Sydney. It is Madam Bristow."

Vaughn sputtered, "What!? What the hell are you talking about? And for Christ's sake, why are you sitting on Sark's lap!?"

Sydney said happily, "I am Sark's love slave now." Sydney reluctantly slid off Sark's lap and walked over toward the still very confused Vaughn. She grabbed his hand and said, while looking into his eyes to make sure to get her point across, "Don't get me wrong, Vaughn, what we had was great, but I'm with Sark now." Her face brightened and she said cheerily, "I'm one of his Ho's! Isn't that great?" She turned her head and beamed Sark a quick smile before turning back around to face Vaughn.

By now, even Vaughn was starting to catch on and his face reddened slightly in anger. He brought his arms up and grabbed Sydney's forearms and shook her none too gently. "I don't know what the hell he's done to you, but the Sydney I know would not be interested in Sark and she certainly wouldn't be interested in being his Ho. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sydney's face clouded in anger and she wrenched free of Vaughn's grip. She hissed, "There is nothing wrong with me! Can't you see how happy I am? I want this. It's what I've always wanted, I just didn't know it until now."

Vaughn was starting to get desperate, "Sydney! Listen to me! I'm Michael Vaughn, remember? The guy that has been pining over you for the last year and a half? The guy that loves you and the guy that you love back? Don't you remember!?"

Something flickered in Sydney's eyes and for the first time, confusion entered her voice, "V-v-aughn? What is...going on?"

Sark, meanwhile could see that things were not going well and he leapt from his chair and scurried over to the two not so secret agents. He lifted his cane and placed it between the two agents. He then said, "That's enough, Mr. Vaughn. Sydney has made her wishes known and you should respect that." 

Sark then reached up and gently placed a hand on Sydney's arm. Sydney turned her head to face Sark and she smiled. She then turned back to face Vaughn and Vaughn could again see the woman he had met when he had first stumbled into this nightmare. "Sark is right, Vaughn. If you truly care for me, you'll respect my wishes and let me do what makes me happy."

Vaughn had had enough. He violently pushed the cane out of his way and turned to Sark. He grabbed him by the front of coat and he said grimly, "I don't know what you've done to her, but if you don't change her back, your life will become very _unpleasant_."

Sark just laughed and reached inside his open coat to pull his golden necklace to the forefront. The brilliance of the P soon shone brightly and Sark began, just like he had done with Sydney, to speak in a cool and sophisticated voice. "You will let me go, Mr. Vaughn, and forget this ever happened. You will no longer be in love with Sydney Bristow."

Sark waited for Vaughn to repeat what he had just said, but Vaughn just stared at him incredulously. Sark frowned and repeated himself. Again, he got no reaction out of Vaughn. He exclaimed, "Bloody hell! Why aren't you doing what I tell you?"

Vaughn said, "What are you doing, swinging your P around? You think you're some Pimp? Pimp mind tricks don't work on me, only water. I'm French; we invented this crap."

Sark's face paled and he said, "Ummm..." Sark looked furtively around the deli and he shifted his eyes down to look at Vaughn's fists still grabbing his coat and then up into Vaughn's angry face and he said, "Awwwwwww fuck!"

And then Vaughn's fist came crashing towards Sark face, and soon, Sark's left eye was as black as the right.

  
  


Meanwhile, in another part of the deli, two people were getting to know each other. 

"Hi, I'm Eric Weiss."

"Hi, I'm Marshall _Flink_-man."

The two men shook hands and then looked over to the center of the deli where all the drama was taking place. After a few seconds, they looked back to face each other. Weiss nodded towards the three people in the center of the deli and inquired, "So, what do you think?"

Marshall shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know and don't really care. Although, I can understand why they're fighting over her. She does look really good in those pants."

Weiss chuckled, "My friend, she looks good in anything."

Marshall nodded. "But really, that's their problem. I have my own to deal with."

Weiss was intrigued and he asked curiously, "Oh? What's on your mind?"

Marshall took a deep breath and said, "Well, you see, I need this jar. It's a special jar, the Lost Jar of Mayo it is called, and I need it in order to complete this quest to get the Potion of Useless Ramblings. I really want that potion, so that I can ramble and ramble on and on and become king of the geeks. So, you see, I really need it. Plus, my mother has been getting on my case lately about not doing enough with my life, and I figure becoming High King of the Geeks would be an impressive enough accomplishment and would appease her insatiable desire to see me get ahead in life. What do you think?"

Weiss laughed heartily and said, "I think it's an admirable goal. I've always wanted to be king of something myself. I hear the position comes with free concubines." Weiss chuckled and grinned at Marshall.

Marshall grinned shyly back and the two began to discuss Marshall's plan for future Geekdom.

  
  


And now we come to the part that all of you are really here for: The Fight!!!! How did we get here, you ask? Well, that's a good question, but sadly one I do not have an answer for. For you see, I'm lazy and I neither have the energy nor the inclination to describe how I got from Point A to Point B. Besides, would you rather I explain, or just get to the half naked wrestling?

I think we all know the answer to that question, but unfortunately, despite what you want, I'm not gonna explain how this event has come to past. Instead, you're just gonna have to settle for Vaughn and Sark wrestling in a giant pool of KY Jelly in nothing but shorts. Horrifying, I know. I hope you can deal.

Anyways, let us begin.

  
  


Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau (Ha! Bet you thought I had forgotten about everybody's favorite Quebecen freedom fighter, didn't you?) stood tall as he grasped the mic firmly in his hand. The lights of the deli dimmed and a spotlight shone down in the middle of a pool of KY Jelly. Around the pool stood an eager array of deli customers, all excited to see the fight they all knew was coming.

Jean scanned the crowd briefly and then spoke into the mic in his hand, "Ladies and Gentleman, children of all ages, fix your eyes on the giant pool of KY Jelly currently sitting in front of you. Today, we have the fight of the century. Today, we settle a dispute. And we fight it in a way men were made to fight, slippery and covered in goo.

"This is no meaningless fight, ladies and gentleman. Oh no, it is quite the contrary for this is a fight for the love of a woman. And not just any woman, but the Princess of Espionage, the Spy Barbie in all our hearts." A spotlight suddenly shines on Sydney, who was sitting on a chair near the pool, with a vapid look on her face.

Jean continued his spiel, "And now, ladies and gentleman, we meet our two combatants in this great duel for love. In one corner, will stand the man who has captured our lady's heart and in the other corner, will stand the man who wants it back. Here, they will confront one another, two sides of love's cruel game. And here they will decide who wins our lady's heart."

Jean paused dramatically and gazed across the tense faces of the waiting audience. With a deep breath, he spoke into his mic, "I give you your two combatants!" Jean made a sweeping gesture with his hand towards the back of the deli where the crowd had parted to let the two duelers for love enter the makeshift arena that had been setup. 

The first to enter was Sark, wearing his ostentatious fur coat and a pair of shiny purple shorts with his cane leading the way. On each of his arms was one of his Ho's. The light from his bling bling nearly blinded the gaping onlookers as he sashayed his way towards the pool. As he did so, 50 Cent's "P.I.M.P" blared loudly and a pimptastic swagger entered his step. 

Jean began Sark's introduction as the music faded slightly into the background, "Wearing the purple shiny shorts thingie, and weighing in at an impressive 170 pounds, I give you your challenger and current possessor of Spy Barbie's heart, Saaaaaaaaaaark the Piiiiiiiiiiiimp!!!!!!!!" 

The crowd of onlookers jeered and booed Sark as he finally reached the pool. He froze and lifted his shoulders high for the Ho's trailing behind him to divest him of his coat. Once the coat was gone, he slowly began taking off all his bling bling, with the exception of the P, and handing it to the blonde to his right. Soon, after a loving caress to the big shiny gold ball at the crown of his cane, and a kiss from each of the two Ho's behind him, Sark stepped into the giant pool of KY Jelly and waited for his opponent in this great duel for love (God, even I am getting tired of writing that).

Fortunately, Sark didn't have to wait long. Vaughn entered the makeshift arena soon after Sark had climbed into the pool. Vaughn was clad in a shiny pair of shorts with the print of the French flag down one side and the American flag down the other; Marshall and Weiss trailed behind him. For Vaughn's musical into, the song "Girls just wanna have fun" started playing. A frown graced Vaughn's face when he heard the music, but he just shrugged his shoulders and continued on, silently mouthing the words.

Jean, meanwhile, began Vaughn's grandiose vocal introduction, "Wearing the mixed colors of his birth, and weighing in at a strapping 185 pounds, I present to you the current KY Jelly Wrestling champion of the world, Michael 'I'm a sexy Frenchman' Vaaaaaaaaaaauuuuughhhhn!!!!!!!!!"

The crowd erupted in applause and a big smile formed on Vaughn's face. He moved to the opposite side of the pool, across from Sark, and was about to step into the pool of jelly when a hand grasped his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder to see Marshall and he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. Marshall asked, "KY Jelly champion of the world? You've done this before?"

Vaughn chuckled a bit and smiled sheepishly, "In college I used to wrestle in KY frat tournaments. It's how I got beer and pizza money. I was the best KY wrestler in the greater continental United States. Nobody could wrestle a man covered in slippery goo better than me."

Marshall just blinked several times at Vaughn before letting go of his shoulder and quickly stepping away from him. Vaughn turned back around and stepped into the pool, the warm jelly sliding up to his knees.

Jean walked up to the outer edge of the pool and spoke to Sark and Vaughn, "Now, remember, no blows to the face, your agents would kill me if one of you were damaged, no blows below the belt, and for God's sake, please try to keep each others shorts on. None of us here want to see your kibbles and bits." Jean paused and looked around at all the female faces and amended his statement, "Okay, maybe some of us do, but the writer is male so no dropping trou!"

Vaughn and Sark looked at each other and nodded their head in understanding. Jean saw this and said, "Okay, good. Now, everything else goes." Jean cocked his head to the side and yelled, "Go!"

Sark went on the attack first, with a diving tackle that took Vaughn directly in the chest. Both men went down in a shower of clear jelly and flailing limbs. Vaughn flipped around, using the lubricating effects of the jelly, to pin Sark underneath him with his lower body. Vaughn then wrapped his right arm around Sark's right leg and lifted it into the air, as he pushed down with his pelvis. Unfortunately, Sark's body was so slippery, that Vaughn slid right off. Vaughn had to repeat his pressing down of his pelvis onto Sark's lower body just to keep him still. 

A raucous cheer arose from the audience at Vaughn's move, but they screamed even louder when Sark countered it. Using his more limber and agile body, Sark wrapped an arm around Vaughn's back to grab a hold of Vaughn's shorts. Then, with a mighty thrust upward, Sark flipped Vaughn over his head to land on his back, sending a tidal wave of jelly over Sark. Sark lunged up and out of the jelly, only to be body slammed back into the jelly by Vaughn from behind.

Meanwhile, as the clash of spy titans raged on, Jean was calling the fight. "And the wily Frenchman from wherever the hell he's from just landed a sharp elbow jab to Sark the Pimp's ribs! Oh, I think Sark may be down...hold on...no, never mind, he was just adjusting his package." There was a slight pause as some action took place in the pool and then Jean exploded into the mic, "Oh my God! Vaughn just performed the point guy maneuver to Sark's unprotected rear. Oh, ladies and gentleman, never have I seen a move performed so flawlessly. Vaughn easily penetrated Sark's defenses with that move and now Sark the Pimp is not moving. Ladies and gentleman, I think we may have a winner here. The ref is giving the count now..."

Sark was dazed and his vision was skewed horribly. The cheer of the crowd faded to a dull roar as his unfocused eyes stared into the distance. He was incoherent and started mumbling a name over and over again, "Yo Adrian! Adrian! Adri..." (Oh, right, sorry, just a little caught up in the moment) Anyways, this was what he really meant to say, "Dix! Dix! Dix!?" And to Sark's amazement, a man resembling his former master appeared in front of him in the crowd. 

A kind of bluish haze surrounded the man formerly known as Marconi-Wan Dixoni. Sark was confused. He didn't ever remember his master glowing blue before. Dix looked at the confused look on Sark's face (despite the globs of jelly matted indiscriminately across his mug), and realized the source of Sark's confusion. He chuckled sheepishly and said, "Oh, sorry, I should have learned by now not to smoke a reefer while on these vision thingamabobs. Screws up the reception." Dix dropped the reefer to the ground and grinded it into the floor with his foot.

"Now, where was I? Oh, right! My message. Hold on, let me get properly dramatic..." Dix gathered himself and made the tone of his voice deeper, "You must go to the OC. There you will meet my master and former teacher, Kendoda, and he will finish your training in the ways of the Pimp. Go to the OC! To the OC!!!!!!!!"

Sark was confused. "The OC? What the hell is the OC?" Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to ruminate on that question as the ref had almost reached the ten-count (Yes, I realize that it's been more than 10 seconds, but if J.J. can speed up time so that two years pass, I can sure as hell slow down time. Damn straight I can! What are you gonna do about it huh!? That's what I thought).

Sark scrambled to his feet right as the ref reached 9. He groggily turned around to face Vaughn, who had taken up a patented KY attack stance. Both men were completely covered in jelly, their bodies glistening in the light. Their shorts were matted to their bodies, offering pretty good definition, the glistening light reflecting off their naked chests gave the audience a good opportunity to ogle the two gladiators locked in an ageless fight.

Sark moved first. He angled his chest just right so that the glare from the lights up above would reflect off his enormous P and into Vaughn's eyes. He then attacked mercilessly. He lunged and caught Vaughn in his torso with a snap kick, and followed up with two open palm strikes to Vaughn's chest. Luckily for Vaughn, his chest was well lubricated, so part of the blow was negated by Sark's hand slightly rubbing Vaughn's chest. The blows were enough, however, to send Vaughn reeling backward.

Sark pressed his attack, sweeping his leg through the thick jelly and tripping Vaughn up. Vaughn fell to his ass, the jelly seeping into all sorts of nooks and even some crannies. Vaughn however wasn't out of the fight just yet. He lunged forward and caught Sark's legs in his arms and he pulled. Sark dropped down to the pool and flopped around like a fish out of water. Vaughn didn't let Sark recover from the fall, and jumped on top of Sark, trying to pin Sark in place again just like he had done at the beginning of the fight.

Sark thrashed around like a man possessed, but he didn't make up much ground as he simply slid around inside of Vaughn's grip. He could not break free of the hold. Then he remembered his P. He grabbed the P with his right hand as hard as the jelly would allow, and wacked Vaughn across the back with the necklace. Vaughn immediately let go of Sark and seized up, frantically trying to ease the pain the large piece of metal and inflicted upon his delicate skin.

Sark sneered and climbed atop Vaughn's back, wrapping his arm around Vaughn's throat and squeezing. Vaughn frantically began clawing at Sark's arm, but he could not break the hold. He started to gurgle and his vision was beginning to go black, when a loud shout cut through the roar of the crowd. Both men turned their heads to see what all the commotion was.

To both their surprise, there stood Sydney looking like...well, looking like the real Sydney Bristow. And she was pissed. She yelled at the two of them, "What the hell are you two idiots doing? Fighting over me!?"

Sark's grip loosened unconsciously and Vaughn was able to break free of the hold. He quickly bucked Sark off his back and slid across to the far side of the pool. He climbed to his knees and took in several deep breaths, spitting out the occasional glob of jelly. The stuff wasn't edible after all.

Eventually Vaughn was able to climb to his feet and he looked warily over at Sark who so far had not moved from his side of the pool. Vaughn figured he could split his attention, and so turned one green eye toward Sydney. Incredulously he shouted, "What the hell do you mean!? I'm doing this for you! I wasn't about to leave you in his vile clutches."

Vaughn noticed Sark glare at him but the British pimp made no move to attack.

Sydney, meanwhile, was irate. She continued yelling, "You're lucky I don't come in there and kick both your asses for being such...men!"

Vaughn blinked loudly in surprise and then looked over to Sark and saw him do the same. Then both men looked back toward Sydney standing near the edge of the pool. Then both men eyed each other again. An unspoken conversation took place between the two and both men nodded.

Suddenly and without warning, both Vaughn and Sark the Pimp exploded forward, each caught one of Sydney's arms in a slippery grip, and then dragged her into the large pool of KY Jelly. They deposited her unceremoniously in the middle of the pool and then moved off together, Vaughn's arm across Sark's shoulders as they talked conversationally. 

Sydney quickly became covered in jelly, as she glared impotently at the backs of the two men. The last thing she heard before Vaughn and Sark stepped out of the pool was Vaughn asking Sark, "So, would you please tell me more about this...power of the Pimp?"

  
  


As Sark and Vaughn faded into the background of the darkened deli, Jacko the clown stared down at his latest concoction. It was finally finished, and boy did it look spectacular. Carefully and with deliberate movements, he picked up the object and brought it up to eye level.

Oh yes, it would do perfectly. 


End file.
